If Oleandar had ever bothered to admire her own beauty she would have noticed that the man standing in front of them was almost identical in color – the pale gold of his coat captured her observations, but she never thought to compare it to her own milky golden hue. Oly lets her sensitive ears lean into his calm, steady voice. She could not find a reason to be as sour as her sister, and often she could, but this man seemed ever nice without a twinge of mischievousness. Even if he did mean any such harm, or foul, the bay sister was a weapon not to be trifled with.
From behind her pale sister Wrena’s eyes burn like pumpkins set on fire, like the fire that curls in her chest and waits impatiently for release. Her long black eyelashes tip and rise was she blinks, sneering but remaining silent, her chest almost touching Oly’s closest powdery wing.
Oleandar can tell he is listening, not simply waiting to talk. He does mention his home along with his name, but it is not in the same way as most, it does not seem like a line with bait dangling at its end, only waiting to reel you ashore. She’s never visited Taiga, only flown over it. Wrena has been to Taiga, but finds nothing worthy note to say about it. She remains quietly scowling behind/beside Oly. When his eyes make contact with Wrena’s she stares back without blinking and waits for him to focus on her sister again. Oly meets his eyes with hers and a subtle smile, the opposite of her sister. “Travelers, yes.” Her head tilts to the side, watching him, “Aten.” she repeats softly, and Wrena growls under her breath. “We’re not looking for a keeper.” She could not help herself and her hot, sharp voice drops like a molten dribble into the cold sea. Tsss. It makes the atmosphere sizzle, and she fidgets uncomfortably, Oly shooting her a scowl. “Wrena.” the pale sister snaps at the other. Oleandar’s soft voice breaks the tension and she gives the stallion another smile, she is so used to her sister’s aggressive behavior toward strangers. “We do not stay in any place for long, save for Nerine with our mother as children.”
Belonging somewhere is a sensitive subject for them both. Home was their mother, home is each other – things are different with their mother gone, but the latter part stays true. It has never worked out for them to claim a home, there mother never had good luck at it either. Their mother thought perhaps Nerine would be it, gave birth to Wrena there, raised both girls on the stormy beaches of the peninsula. But war, sickness and idleness broke everything apart. Their mother disappeared and they’ve never been back to Nerine since.
After a few still moments pass, Oly draws in a breath and breaks the quiet with her silky voice. “And what brings you here tonight then, Aten?”
i've got no roots,
oleandar & wrena
but my home was never on the ground
@[Aten]