11-19-2019, 09:43 AM
----------------kiss me until i can't speak
Several hundred feet in the air, Pteron balances on a limb barely wider than his own nose.
His wings are outstretched for balance, much as they had been for the last hour. The setting sun has reduced the visibility, but he places each hoof carefully, remarkable stable in this odd activity. At least, he was remarkably stable, at least until the grow shadows hide a bit of slick wood, and he is suddenly falling. The stallion’s feathered wings curl in toward his body, but not before they crack a few times against branches wider than he is. There is no catching himself, not with these tight confines, and the fall to the ground seems to take an eon.
When he does finally crash down, one white wing snaps beneath him and the other collapses to cover his head and neck. If anyone were watching, that might save them the rather gruesome sight of a skull split open and oozing, though Pteron most certainly feels it. There is a long moment of silence, and then a low groan that can’t possibly come from a throat as crushed as his had been. And yet it does, as does the muffled “Fuck,” from behind the feathers. A breath raises his sides, and there are a few muted snaps of ribs reconnecting, and then the softer ones of his vertebrae rejoining as he rises to his feet.
Pteron’s olive eyes blink rapidly as he looks around at the twilight woods, but he does not see anyone at first glance. Good, perhaps he’s avoided that embarrassment. The wing that had been pinned beneath his is the last to heal, and there remains a sharp ache. Hissing quietly, Pteron turns his head to get a look at that joint, and sees that it’s been pulled from the socket. Grumbling to himself, the tobiano stallion walks toward the tree from which he’d fallen. He lines his shoulder up with the solid trunk, and gritting his neck, forces the wing back where it belongs. The twinge of healing muscle tells him that he’s been successful, and Pteron lets out a long sigh.
The bruises from that won’t fade till noon tomorrow, he knows from experience, and the soreness might last days.
Best to walk it off, he thinks, and heads out into the woods
-- pteron --