07-23-2015, 09:21 AM
and when I breathed, my breath was lightning
When Rhy catches sight of the stallion following the girl as well, she’s immediately on guard. It’s not until he’s closer, not until she can smell the Dale, and hear his words, that she relaxes. He’s nearby, but she’s focused on the girl for the moment. The girl doesn’t come crashing into her, but Rhy realizes what’s going on somewhat quickly. The butterfly had disappeared behind her, and the girl thinks that Rhy is the butterfly. She confirms this too, in response to the stallion’s question.
Rhy looks up at the stallion and simply shakes her head. A quite, no, she’s not mine,” and a slight look of uncertainty in her eyes. Because this girl doesn’t seem homeless, doesn’t seem like a child who even really understands where she is. Did she come from a home? Could she get back? Rhy would take her, if she wanted to return, but the girl is too focused on butterflies.
On Rhy as well, whom she thinks is a butterfly.
“No. I am many things, but I am nothing so wonderful as a butterfly.” No, the things Rhy could be were terrible things, wielded at least by good hands. She was electric, could stop a heart in the blink of an eye with that electric. She was a lioness, with claws and teeth and a taste for flesh. She was a ghost, invisible and silent and immortal. She was many terrible things. She was nothing lovely at all. Only in horse form was she lovely, gold and white with kind eyes and an easy smile.
“Illae,” she begins, trying to catch the girl’s attention. “Did you come from somewhere? Or are you looking for a home?” Because she still thinks that this girl has a home, has some place she’s supposed to go back to. But still, here they are, in the field. Her and this stallion watching out for a girl in a place full of monsters.
Rhy looks up at the stallion and simply shakes her head. A quite, no, she’s not mine,” and a slight look of uncertainty in her eyes. Because this girl doesn’t seem homeless, doesn’t seem like a child who even really understands where she is. Did she come from a home? Could she get back? Rhy would take her, if she wanted to return, but the girl is too focused on butterflies.
On Rhy as well, whom she thinks is a butterfly.
“No. I am many things, but I am nothing so wonderful as a butterfly.” No, the things Rhy could be were terrible things, wielded at least by good hands. She was electric, could stop a heart in the blink of an eye with that electric. She was a lioness, with claws and teeth and a taste for flesh. She was a ghost, invisible and silent and immortal. She was many terrible things. She was nothing lovely at all. Only in horse form was she lovely, gold and white with kind eyes and an easy smile.
“Illae,” she begins, trying to catch the girl’s attention. “Did you come from somewhere? Or are you looking for a home?” Because she still thinks that this girl has a home, has some place she’s supposed to go back to. But still, here they are, in the field. Her and this stallion watching out for a girl in a place full of monsters.
rhy
the electric lioness of riagan and rayelle
