11-06-2019, 09:41 PM
The saltwater had frozen a quarter-mile up, and Pteron had shaken the crystals from his wings as he flew. His skin soon loses the wrinkles of his hours-long soak, but the satisfaction that accompanies the memory of his morning in Loess keeps him warm for a long time into his flight. The clouds and thick and promise snow, and as Pteron shiver sin the cold he is glad that hiss flight is a short one. The skin of his neck is coldest of all, freshly regrown and lacking the thick winter coat that covers the rest of his tobiano body. The Loessian princess had not forgotten how easily Pteron will cave to her demands, and even finds the resulting burns she gives him amusing. Soaking in the saltwater pool had been as much to blanche away his pain as it was her scent.
As he circles the white meadow, Pteron is thinking fondly of the high hollow where he makes his nest. Cushioned with feathers he has molted and mouthfuls of leaves and pine needles carried carefully from the forest floor, he means to bury himself in their depths and sleep for a long time. Till dinner, maybe, or perhaps even through the night if someone else will take his evening patrol. So occupied is the pegasus with this plan that he does not even notice the pair of horses below until one turns to leave. There is not time to land before she is away, and the blue-haired stallion glances after his mother for only a moment before looking back to the stranger that matches so well with the snow.
Not a stranger at all, he realizes as he comes closer.
Aquaria, less pearlescent than he remembers, with soft pale hair instead of a coat of scales. Her fins are fewer as well, and he wonders if this is because she is far from the sea. Very far, he realizes, and it is much colder here than her home has ever been. Without thinking, he steps beside her and wraps a wing across her body. The feathers are cold from flight but he knows they will warm soon, all the more so for how he pulls her tight against him, shifts his shoulder so that she fits just so.
She smells of tropical flowers even in this frozen weather, and her soft hair tastes of salt when he speaks quietly against her ear.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you have a double death wish,” Pteron laughs softly, “not only have you come to Taiga in the winter, but you did it in my mother’s company as well.”
@[Aquaria]
As he circles the white meadow, Pteron is thinking fondly of the high hollow where he makes his nest. Cushioned with feathers he has molted and mouthfuls of leaves and pine needles carried carefully from the forest floor, he means to bury himself in their depths and sleep for a long time. Till dinner, maybe, or perhaps even through the night if someone else will take his evening patrol. So occupied is the pegasus with this plan that he does not even notice the pair of horses below until one turns to leave. There is not time to land before she is away, and the blue-haired stallion glances after his mother for only a moment before looking back to the stranger that matches so well with the snow.
Not a stranger at all, he realizes as he comes closer.
Aquaria, less pearlescent than he remembers, with soft pale hair instead of a coat of scales. Her fins are fewer as well, and he wonders if this is because she is far from the sea. Very far, he realizes, and it is much colder here than her home has ever been. Without thinking, he steps beside her and wraps a wing across her body. The feathers are cold from flight but he knows they will warm soon, all the more so for how he pulls her tight against him, shifts his shoulder so that she fits just so.
She smells of tropical flowers even in this frozen weather, and her soft hair tastes of salt when he speaks quietly against her ear.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you have a double death wish,” Pteron laughs softly, “not only have you come to Taiga in the winter, but you did it in my mother’s company as well.”
@[Aquaria]
-- pteron --