Rae the fairytale.
She would like, if she knew it, though it wasn’t wholy accurate. There was something of a fairytale in her life, certainly, but in the end what fairytale leaves you alone? Not necessarily lonely – not all the time – but certainly lonesome. In the end, though she lived so much of her life in the sky, she was a creature made for companionship, a thing she has lacked for far too long. She isn’t sad about it though. After all, her life was her choice, at least, most of it. The death of her mother was not her choice, the changes wrought upon Beqanna were not her choice, but she’d be a fool to mourn things so far out of her control. Then everything else were repercussions of her decisions, her choices, and she did not see a point in being sad over the choices she made.
If she wanted something different, she simply had to make different choices. It was that easy. The hard part was knowing what she wanted, her heart so torn in two between remaining a bird or living as a horse, for she was meant for both.
He listens quietly, answering her question about a herd only after she has told her story. His answer feels like the sky to him, and she begins to imagine that it’s possible to love both the earth and sky equally, to belong to the place above and below. Herd life doesn’t sound like a prison, just a place that others could be present too. The clouds and the bird were familiar to her, yes, but they were not quite the same as seeing the same faces every day. This was the piece she missed up here in her blue and white world.
He stands, and she watches him unfurl his wings, gauging the air around them. She already knows its spend without needing to ask though, already knows she can change it to suit her whims and will. For a moment, she almost changes it around him, almost makes it a perfect takeoff if it’s time for him to return home (a fact that makes her a little sad but also something she can certainly understand). Then he speaks again, eyes still closed, and she finds herself smiling at the way he appreciates the wind.
“You have,” she says, using the word you in the collective sense, though he too has caught her fascination just a bit. There was a bit of the sky in him, and he makes her believe it’s possible to have both, to be more than just one thing. “Even goddesses grow weary of their domain,” she says it with a laugh, teasing clear in her voice. At that, she stands to join him, pulling at the wind to speed it up just a hair. “I suppose I should let you go to wherever you need to be,” she adds, unfurling her wings. The wind calls to them both, tugging gently and waiting with open arms. “Though I do rather hope to run into you again.”
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission