04-07-2019, 08:54 PM
Despite the brilliant summer sunlight, the air that streams past Pteron’s blue nose is bitterly cold. He flies ever higher, pushing himself until the shadows begun to seep into the edges of his vision.
He could go higher, Pteron knows, so high that the shadows would take him entirely. In dark unconscious he’d fall through the air and wake – covered in blood and perfectly whole. It’s painless, but it is also not especially enjoyable. Certainly not as enjoyable as the dive he’s about to do, anyway. The dun colt halts his ascension with a simple shift of his wings, then points his front hooves toward the distant green earth. As quickly as he can, Pteron points his head forward and folds his wings back.
Hurtling toward the distant earth as fast as he is able, the piebald two-year-old feels the rush of adrenaline through his veins and each thunderous beat of his own heart. This is one of his favorite past times, and when he finally pulls up (at the very last possible moment) and drifts to a stop on the green hills he is all but laughing with joy. Taking several deep breaths, the young stallion tosses his mane away from his face and slowly folds in the hard-silk edges of his pale wings.
Only then does he look around, and just so happens to see a dappled grey mare moving past.
“Hey!” he calls out, emboldened by the surge of epinephrine that still floods through him. Pteron isn’t quite sure where she’s going, but she’s in the Field, and that usually means that conversation will be tolerated from strangers. She’s heading toward the Riverlands, he sees, but perhaps might be willing to stop and chat a bit.
He could go higher, Pteron knows, so high that the shadows would take him entirely. In dark unconscious he’d fall through the air and wake – covered in blood and perfectly whole. It’s painless, but it is also not especially enjoyable. Certainly not as enjoyable as the dive he’s about to do, anyway. The dun colt halts his ascension with a simple shift of his wings, then points his front hooves toward the distant green earth. As quickly as he can, Pteron points his head forward and folds his wings back.
Hurtling toward the distant earth as fast as he is able, the piebald two-year-old feels the rush of adrenaline through his veins and each thunderous beat of his own heart. This is one of his favorite past times, and when he finally pulls up (at the very last possible moment) and drifts to a stop on the green hills he is all but laughing with joy. Taking several deep breaths, the young stallion tosses his mane away from his face and slowly folds in the hard-silk edges of his pale wings.
Only then does he look around, and just so happens to see a dappled grey mare moving past.
“Hey!” he calls out, emboldened by the surge of epinephrine that still floods through him. Pteron isn’t quite sure where she’s going, but she’s in the Field, and that usually means that conversation will be tolerated from strangers. She’s heading toward the Riverlands, he sees, but perhaps might be willing to stop and chat a bit.