09-05-2016, 07:53 AM
Wings!
“You’re welcome,” they say in almost one voice, laughing a little. They are glad she is not so very cold any more; they hadn’t noticed it, honestly. The cold never bothered them like it did others, maybe because they had been born just outside the Tundra and raised in the heart of it, running free of parental interference (they knew Offspring looked after them, turned a red eye to them here and there) across the permafrost. Maybe that accounted for their lack of boundaries and regard for most things, like social graces and the like.
Spear & Spark
Spear and Spark share a look over her black back and very new, very different wings.
They know she didn’t have them before, and Spear is on the verge of mouthing a few feathers to see what they taste like but Spark gives him a look that makes him think twice about disturbing the wings between the black filly and them.
“Spear,” he grunts, easily churlish now that Spark won’t let him satisfy his curiosity.
“And I’m Spark.” she adds with a hint of a chuckle, her mouth curling up in a friendly smile.
“What happened to your fire?” He asks this, able to at least indulge his curiosity in something.
They both remembered coming into a cave from out of the cold, and there had been a fire blazing before their eyes. It was self-contained and not started in the way that most fires were, or at least the ones that Scalped had told them about from her origin story out on the Plains. But it had warmed them, and beyond it had lain Lily in the fireglow. They think of her as that, as a pretty flower that had no place in the Tundra’s ice and cold. Then again, who had much of a place there? It was fairly rough to weather both the cold and the barren land, but they had and they miss it already.
“Thank you, we like your red hair and newfound wings.” That is Spark talking, because Spear is trying to get a good look at her them, especially as Lily stretches them out. “Have you tried flying yet?” He’s never been altogether too envious of things like that, he could care less if he had a horn to hurt with or wings to fly with. He had half-expected Spark and him to end up like their mother - immortal, but even that had not happened and they were just boring old horses. Okay, not boring or old in the least since they were two usually happy-go-lucky almost-yearlings underneath all that shaggy fur. He’s still curious though, mostly that above everything else.
“You’re welcome,” they say in almost one voice, laughing a little. They are glad she is not so very cold any more; they hadn’t noticed it, honestly. The cold never bothered them like it did others, maybe because they had been born just outside the Tundra and raised in the heart of it, running free of parental interference (they knew Offspring looked after them, turned a red eye to them here and there) across the permafrost. Maybe that accounted for their lack of boundaries and regard for most things, like social graces and the like.