06-30-2021, 09:59 PM
like an angel but with broken wings
Whatever Renfri had been expecting in response, it certainly wasn’t… that.
To say the girl is a bit taken aback is an understatement. The overo mare’s confidence in confirming that they are not the specks that Renfri had just implied gives the girl pause, and she realizes that this stranger will not be one that she can easily manipulate. You were not nothing. It rings in her head in a troubling sort of way, and Renfri wonders if her conversational partner has magicks of her own, or just a way of speaking that flips Renfri’s words all back onto herself in a way that leaves her flustered.
There are a few moments of silence as the two contemplate one another, and then the mare asks another question and Renfri takes a moment to consider herself. A horse, right? A child, correct? A manipulative little thing with powers that she has only just begun to explore. A child with a crooked halo and nearly-black wings that are almost long enough to drag the ground as she walks. She is Renfri, daughter of Tarte and Cirilla, sister to Cross; nothing more, nothing less.
She wonders which answer the stranger wants.
“That’s a rather rude question,” she says finally, childish petulance coloring her tone. “But I suppose it is correct to say that anatomically, I am a horse. As are you. Do you not know what a horse is? Because you’re older than me, so I think you’ve been around a bit longer than I have.” Still confused, but a bit more confident now, she continues.
“Some of us have powers, like wings and teleporting and stuff like that, but others don’t have anything at all. They named me Renfri, which is a warrior name or something.” Finally, the child stops, curiosity stilling her tongue for a moment. “What are you?”
She thinks it’s only fair, since the stranger had asked her first.
To say the girl is a bit taken aback is an understatement. The overo mare’s confidence in confirming that they are not the specks that Renfri had just implied gives the girl pause, and she realizes that this stranger will not be one that she can easily manipulate. You were not nothing. It rings in her head in a troubling sort of way, and Renfri wonders if her conversational partner has magicks of her own, or just a way of speaking that flips Renfri’s words all back onto herself in a way that leaves her flustered.
There are a few moments of silence as the two contemplate one another, and then the mare asks another question and Renfri takes a moment to consider herself. A horse, right? A child, correct? A manipulative little thing with powers that she has only just begun to explore. A child with a crooked halo and nearly-black wings that are almost long enough to drag the ground as she walks. She is Renfri, daughter of Tarte and Cirilla, sister to Cross; nothing more, nothing less.
She wonders which answer the stranger wants.
“That’s a rather rude question,” she says finally, childish petulance coloring her tone. “But I suppose it is correct to say that anatomically, I am a horse. As are you. Do you not know what a horse is? Because you’re older than me, so I think you’ve been around a bit longer than I have.” Still confused, but a bit more confident now, she continues.
“Some of us have powers, like wings and teleporting and stuff like that, but others don’t have anything at all. They named me Renfri, which is a warrior name or something.” Finally, the child stops, curiosity stilling her tongue for a moment. “What are you?”
She thinks it’s only fair, since the stranger had asked her first.
Renfri
@Ausra