05-05-2021, 09:53 PM
The light that meets the dark
The poppy blooms twirled slowly, bright spots of red that hovered in the air and then tumbled away to some forgotten place. Cheri, watching The Black turn back exactly as she wanted him to, felt the smile on her lips die as quickly as it'd been born. She had half a mind to roll her eyes at him, were it not for the way he twisted - leonine and proud - to face her again. Springing up from the meadow, Cheri saw flashes of light twinkling off tiny wings and curiosity got the better of her. She found herself softening again, intrigued by the activity of what looked to be little insects crawling all over the stallion’s skin. Insects they were not; he surprised her for once by calling them family, which Cheri could instantly see were actually tiny fairy-kin. Her skin shuddered softly at their approach, resisting the urge to dispel them like she would any normal pest, but her genteel nature got the best of her, always. She breathed deeply and curved prettily, angling her head to one side so that she could peer at the activity.
They pulled numbly at her mane, causing her to smile in a momentary lapse of judgement. “Pure devils,” she thought of them, just like their supposed child. Their odd little digits left golden smears across her fur, each one catching the overhead sunlight until she was streaked through and gleaming. She would’ve commented about them aloud, had the strange stallion not spoken up again and taken her further by surprise. “His land?” She swiveled back to glare at him, frowning once more as he waited patiently to be painted by his relatives.
When had that happened? Surely … surely Oceane wouldn’t have given this creature the rights to property in her Kingdom, given his unusual ego. Cheri couldn’t even picture the two horses together in the same space, much less talking pleasantly over contracts and alliances. And to think! She was … they were technically neighbors now.
She ground her teeth together to try and stop the sudden flush of heat that rose to her cheeks. “Damn him.” She thought. “He’s avoiding the obvious, playing his games again.”
Drink with him, he asked her. Drink what? Fey nectar? Did he think she was stupid, or just sheltered? Cheri felt like she could read him clearly enough. No doubt those red, hazy eyes of his were mocking her like they always seemed to do. He really didn’t have to speak; she could understand the notion of being taunted into something dangerous and he was certainly goading her into wickedness with that stubborn, chiseled jaw of his. For a brief moment she considered leaving again - this was all so childish, really - but damn him! That was exactly what he expected her to do! Wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it what she should do? Her thoughts drifted for a second, back to Taiga and the horses she’d left behind there. What would they think, if they knew what she was up to right now? For the millionth time since leaving home she wished desperately for Targaryen, but the reality of his absence was as real as the buffering winds pushing her gently from side-to-side. She swayed, lovely and in the peak of her early womanhood, and then with a defiant toss of her head she strode forward. The scattered fairies who’d come to tickle and pinch her skin gripped tightly where they could or skittered to safety among the feathers of her light wings.
“I’m impressed.” She lowered her head after him, taking not one but three long pulls from the nectar until the bowl was moist and empty. “Your talent is drinking like a lady.” Cheri mocked him, raising her head once more. Close enough now to see that the liquid had left a smear of color over his dark lips she laughed - then bit her tongue with the realization that she, too, must’ve had a residual mustache of golden nectar. She quickly wiped the fluid away on the curve of one knee and leaned comfortably to one side in preparation, knowing what was to come.
Back home in Taiga, they’d had a spurt of awesome fungi growth with the return of the sun. The vegetation grew wild and sprouted up in clumps everywhere, sometimes growing larger than the horses that resided there. Her half-sister and step-dam had fawned over them the way nerdy plant lovers were prone to doing, reaching with their floral magic into their strange root systems and studying their spores. Memorie, her father’s daughter out of Borderline, had pulled Cheri aside not long after the study to inform her that certain fungi blooms had “special” properties, so to speak, and the girls had tripped an afternoon away on more than one occasion. Cheri had never trusted herself to find the right ones after Memorie had left to explore the world, so she’d refrained from going on a high ever since - but at least she could admit to herself that she wasn’t as caged as The Black might assume her to be.
How bad could the nectar be, really?
“I assume you have a name?” She drawled cattily, sighing deeply as a new kind of warmth spread from the crown of her head down through her immobile limbs. It was a heavy sort of feeling, but not unpleasant. She felt herself … relaxing. “I’m getting tired of having to make one up every time I run across you.”
They pulled numbly at her mane, causing her to smile in a momentary lapse of judgement. “Pure devils,” she thought of them, just like their supposed child. Their odd little digits left golden smears across her fur, each one catching the overhead sunlight until she was streaked through and gleaming. She would’ve commented about them aloud, had the strange stallion not spoken up again and taken her further by surprise. “His land?” She swiveled back to glare at him, frowning once more as he waited patiently to be painted by his relatives.
When had that happened? Surely … surely Oceane wouldn’t have given this creature the rights to property in her Kingdom, given his unusual ego. Cheri couldn’t even picture the two horses together in the same space, much less talking pleasantly over contracts and alliances. And to think! She was … they were technically neighbors now.
She ground her teeth together to try and stop the sudden flush of heat that rose to her cheeks. “Damn him.” She thought. “He’s avoiding the obvious, playing his games again.”
Drink with him, he asked her. Drink what? Fey nectar? Did he think she was stupid, or just sheltered? Cheri felt like she could read him clearly enough. No doubt those red, hazy eyes of his were mocking her like they always seemed to do. He really didn’t have to speak; she could understand the notion of being taunted into something dangerous and he was certainly goading her into wickedness with that stubborn, chiseled jaw of his. For a brief moment she considered leaving again - this was all so childish, really - but damn him! That was exactly what he expected her to do! Wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it what she should do? Her thoughts drifted for a second, back to Taiga and the horses she’d left behind there. What would they think, if they knew what she was up to right now? For the millionth time since leaving home she wished desperately for Targaryen, but the reality of his absence was as real as the buffering winds pushing her gently from side-to-side. She swayed, lovely and in the peak of her early womanhood, and then with a defiant toss of her head she strode forward. The scattered fairies who’d come to tickle and pinch her skin gripped tightly where they could or skittered to safety among the feathers of her light wings.
“I’m impressed.” She lowered her head after him, taking not one but three long pulls from the nectar until the bowl was moist and empty. “Your talent is drinking like a lady.” Cheri mocked him, raising her head once more. Close enough now to see that the liquid had left a smear of color over his dark lips she laughed - then bit her tongue with the realization that she, too, must’ve had a residual mustache of golden nectar. She quickly wiped the fluid away on the curve of one knee and leaned comfortably to one side in preparation, knowing what was to come.
Back home in Taiga, they’d had a spurt of awesome fungi growth with the return of the sun. The vegetation grew wild and sprouted up in clumps everywhere, sometimes growing larger than the horses that resided there. Her half-sister and step-dam had fawned over them the way nerdy plant lovers were prone to doing, reaching with their floral magic into their strange root systems and studying their spores. Memorie, her father’s daughter out of Borderline, had pulled Cheri aside not long after the study to inform her that certain fungi blooms had “special” properties, so to speak, and the girls had tripped an afternoon away on more than one occasion. Cheri had never trusted herself to find the right ones after Memorie had left to explore the world, so she’d refrained from going on a high ever since - but at least she could admit to herself that she wasn’t as caged as The Black might assume her to be.
How bad could the nectar be, really?
“I assume you have a name?” She drawled cattily, sighing deeply as a new kind of warmth spread from the crown of her head down through her immobile limbs. It was a heavy sort of feeling, but not unpleasant. She felt herself … relaxing. “I’m getting tired of having to make one up every time I run across you.”
@[Obscene] scroll scroll scroll