10-15-2019, 11:05 AM
Tall and thin, her shadow stretches out on the yellow-gray sand ahead of her. It nearly reaches the water’s edge now, but when she had arrived it was half the size and the tide much farther out. The day is fading and the cool autumn night is drawing near. Her mane is tugged every which way by the breeze, a tangle of bicolored hair in every shade from blue to white. It often obscures her line of sight, but her storm colored eyes do not move from the distant shadowy rise that she knows are the cliffs of Nerine.
The mare that looks out to sea is little like her elongated shadow. She is not tall, and her sturdy physique is far from waif-like. Her long hair (even snarled and full of knots) is her one vanity, waving locks that reach past her belly and brush the ground behind her. As richly navy as the rest of her dun points, the swept back mane reveals her bare neck and shoulders and the multitude of scars across them. They have softened in the years since their infliction; all are smaller and thinner; some have even disappeared entirely. Still, they are stark and blue against her pale cream hide, and the reason she keeps her hair so ridiculously long.
A movement behind her pulls her gaze from the breaking waves. It hadn’t sounded quite like hoofbeats, yet somehow that makes her all the more certain that it is her husband she will find when she turns about. Lepis is right, and she smiles without thinking, smiles just enough that when she remembers and freezes, that the hopefulness is visible for far longer than it ever existed in her mind.
It is her husband’s green gaze that she meets, yet as her blue-grey eyes meet his she seems to look deeper, maintaining eye contact even as her navy mouth slides back to stillness. Then she scrutinizes the rest of him, inch by inch. The mask across his face, the high crest of his well-muscled neck and the bristling mane that accentuates it. The pattern of the blue stripes on his coat as they slash through the golden hair that is the precise shade of her happiness.
Her voice catches in her throat as she begins to speak, but she tries again, just three words.
“Fly with me?” She asks, and steps back. Her wings flare, low and wide, her pinions nearly touching the damp sand. Lepis knows this is not what he expects – and is quite likely not what he wants. But her Wolfbane has never been able to resist an invitation to take to the skies, and she is nearly certain that she can see him there, hidden behind those eerily unfamiliar green eyes.
@[Wolfbane]
The mare that looks out to sea is little like her elongated shadow. She is not tall, and her sturdy physique is far from waif-like. Her long hair (even snarled and full of knots) is her one vanity, waving locks that reach past her belly and brush the ground behind her. As richly navy as the rest of her dun points, the swept back mane reveals her bare neck and shoulders and the multitude of scars across them. They have softened in the years since their infliction; all are smaller and thinner; some have even disappeared entirely. Still, they are stark and blue against her pale cream hide, and the reason she keeps her hair so ridiculously long.
A movement behind her pulls her gaze from the breaking waves. It hadn’t sounded quite like hoofbeats, yet somehow that makes her all the more certain that it is her husband she will find when she turns about. Lepis is right, and she smiles without thinking, smiles just enough that when she remembers and freezes, that the hopefulness is visible for far longer than it ever existed in her mind.
It is her husband’s green gaze that she meets, yet as her blue-grey eyes meet his she seems to look deeper, maintaining eye contact even as her navy mouth slides back to stillness. Then she scrutinizes the rest of him, inch by inch. The mask across his face, the high crest of his well-muscled neck and the bristling mane that accentuates it. The pattern of the blue stripes on his coat as they slash through the golden hair that is the precise shade of her happiness.
Her voice catches in her throat as she begins to speak, but she tries again, just three words.
“Fly with me?” She asks, and steps back. Her wings flare, low and wide, her pinions nearly touching the damp sand. Lepis knows this is not what he expects – and is quite likely not what he wants. But her Wolfbane has never been able to resist an invitation to take to the skies, and she is nearly certain that she can see him there, hidden behind those eerily unfamiliar green eyes.
@[Wolfbane]
