don't get cut on my edges ─
I'm the king of everything and oh my tongue is a weapon
I'm the king of everything and oh my tongue is a weapon
Amet had forgotten what, exactly, the fairies of Beqanna were capable of doing. When Solace had mentioned that territories of old had been pulled straight out of the sea, shuffling the geography of the island he had come to know and love, he could not say that he had been surprised ─ but maybe, just slightly, happily amused. Sometimes, it felt as if the island was its own sentient being, shifting and molding itself to the community that thrived upon it.
The dragonhide stallion ventures away from Hyaline, through the northern part of Pangea, and finally into Silver Cove just as dawn breaks over the horizon, painting the sky in purple pastel. Amet's amber eyes rest only briefly on the sky, instead concentrating on the unfamiliar pathway that has unfurled before him. While springtime in this territory is no Hyaline, there's still a refreshing beauty to the budding trees and the slight frost that still clings to the sea-salted grass.
Solace's scent is strong here, familiar and comforting. Amet smiles to himself at the thought of the blue-accented girl who'd grown and learned so much since he had left her at the helm of Hyaline six years ago. Pride swells in his chest as he continues forward, his dark hooves beating dully against the frozen morning turf.
After some time ─ and a blatant disregard for the border, though not unkindly or with bad intentions ─ the akhal-teke comes to heel as he reaches the cove for which the territory is named. Picking his way over smooth stone and then cool, wet sand, the dragonhide stallion finally rests at the water's edge, just outside of the tide's reach, and simply waits.
- Amet -