11-07-2019, 09:40 AM
Pteron had not looked for her during his last journey south, and seeing her standing alone among the redwoods reminds him of that. He should have; she deserves that. Some part of him knows that they are no longer children, yet he cannot quite forget the way she always brightened at his arrival and the answering lightness in his chest at hers. It is still there, he finds, even if another part of him shies away from the hulking creature that she throws into the air.
“You’re getting faster with those,” the pegasus admires, but it is clear from the side-eye his gives the shadowy teeth that he is not displeased to see it recede into the fog. At her admonition for his greeting, Pteron simply grins and tells her that “I had to make sure you were on your toes for our adventure” as though there are dangers in the north beyond more snow than is reasonable. Her mention of a monster elicits a grin and a shrug: he might be responsible, but he is not abashed, his face says. Oriash had all but clipped her own wings, and knowing that she has finally spread them creates a warm sense of pride. She’d have flown eventually, the tobiano knows, but that he had helped – even just with encouragement – is the source of the overexaggerated preening he does at her jestful attempt at blame.
“You’re welcome,” Pteron responds with a cocky tilt of his head and a prideful look down his long blue nose. He’d been about to add something more, it seems, but the way he moves has brought his healing scar into her line of sight, and the playful phrase dies on his tongue. What happened, she demands to know, and a quick seize of fear tightens in his belly. There is no time to come up with a clever lie, and even if there were Pteron is not sure that he could lie to Oriash. Not when she has only ever been honest with him.
“It’s nothing,” he finally tells her, “just a reminder that I was too foolish for my own good. See, it’s already fading.” The pegasus takes a step closer, and indeed the raw red of it is already fading to a soft pink. In a few hours it will be gone entirely, the burnt hair replaced with fresh new growth. Pteron hopes that his reluctance to be entirely forthcoming is enough to stop her from prying farther, to stop her from doing the mental mathematics and discovering that a wound still visible on his quickly-regenerating body had been quite recently inflicted.
That the source of his injury is not only jealous but shares a home with Oriash keeps him from getting too close in his effort to show her. So instead he throws his head in a tight circle, attempting to demonstrate that the pink line is painless. And for the most part it is; the fire had burned quick and clean
“Now,” he says, the firmness of his tone drawing an end to their previous topic even while a growing smile suggests he has not been entirely subdued by it. (And hopes the same is true for Oriash, even if she has not gotten the detailed answer she might have wanted). “Are you going to show me what you have learned about flying since I last saw you, or will I have to beg?” It feels a little unfair, the flirtatious smile that he gives her. It is not that he wouldn’t flirt with her in any other circumstances (he does so as easily as he breathes, after all), but using it as a distraction feels…slimy. Effective though, he hopes, and manages to quash the guilt with an expectant expression and an anticipatory raise of his brows.
@[Oriash]
“You’re getting faster with those,” the pegasus admires, but it is clear from the side-eye his gives the shadowy teeth that he is not displeased to see it recede into the fog. At her admonition for his greeting, Pteron simply grins and tells her that “I had to make sure you were on your toes for our adventure” as though there are dangers in the north beyond more snow than is reasonable. Her mention of a monster elicits a grin and a shrug: he might be responsible, but he is not abashed, his face says. Oriash had all but clipped her own wings, and knowing that she has finally spread them creates a warm sense of pride. She’d have flown eventually, the tobiano knows, but that he had helped – even just with encouragement – is the source of the overexaggerated preening he does at her jestful attempt at blame.
“You’re welcome,” Pteron responds with a cocky tilt of his head and a prideful look down his long blue nose. He’d been about to add something more, it seems, but the way he moves has brought his healing scar into her line of sight, and the playful phrase dies on his tongue. What happened, she demands to know, and a quick seize of fear tightens in his belly. There is no time to come up with a clever lie, and even if there were Pteron is not sure that he could lie to Oriash. Not when she has only ever been honest with him.
“It’s nothing,” he finally tells her, “just a reminder that I was too foolish for my own good. See, it’s already fading.” The pegasus takes a step closer, and indeed the raw red of it is already fading to a soft pink. In a few hours it will be gone entirely, the burnt hair replaced with fresh new growth. Pteron hopes that his reluctance to be entirely forthcoming is enough to stop her from prying farther, to stop her from doing the mental mathematics and discovering that a wound still visible on his quickly-regenerating body had been quite recently inflicted.
That the source of his injury is not only jealous but shares a home with Oriash keeps him from getting too close in his effort to show her. So instead he throws his head in a tight circle, attempting to demonstrate that the pink line is painless. And for the most part it is; the fire had burned quick and clean
“Now,” he says, the firmness of his tone drawing an end to their previous topic even while a growing smile suggests he has not been entirely subdued by it. (And hopes the same is true for Oriash, even if she has not gotten the detailed answer she might have wanted). “Are you going to show me what you have learned about flying since I last saw you, or will I have to beg?” It feels a little unfair, the flirtatious smile that he gives her. It is not that he wouldn’t flirt with her in any other circumstances (he does so as easily as he breathes, after all), but using it as a distraction feels…slimy. Effective though, he hopes, and manages to quash the guilt with an expectant expression and an anticipatory raise of his brows.
@[Oriash]
-- pteron --