Leilan
If there’s one thing characteristic about the Isle, it’d be its whiteness.
Ice and snow come down from the northern mountain range early in the season and leave only when summer’s hold on the mainland is at its strongest. The winds never turn hot here, causing snowdrifts well into spring and freezing the autumn rain as soon as the sun turns its attention to another place.
The ice-wielding roan would never feel at home in Tephra, but here, he cloaks himself with nature as much as nature beckons to him. It’d be too much to say he’s growing one with the land itself, but the cold that seeps into every visitor’s bones might as easily have his magical touch as not.
He rides the northern winds mentally, expanding only in the winter season beyond the borders of the northern kingdoms. It’s how he found Brennen once, though he knows it’s not he who made him stay awake, but his nephew. Today he doesn’t have to go so far to meet a familiar face, however: Kori sets a hoof on the obsidian glass of the beach, the last remnants of Castile’s crazy fire, and he alerts his uncle.
Blood calls to blood, he thinks, though the influx of relatives is less and less as the grow older and older. Young Trekori is no longer that lanky colt in need of a father figure, easy to manipulate or in Leilan’s case just bother. He has shed his adolescence to become a stallion, but that is really all that the ice-clad roan touches. He never wanted to start into mind-reading and the like and he sure as hell wouldn’t start with glow-stick.
Oh, old habits die hard indeed. So he shows up, albeit behind the other male by use of a portal, and adds a waft of ice-cold to his presence. Just for the idea of freezing him, but not fully, as Trekori was never built for the cold.
”Hello to you, too.”
There would be plenty things to say - other things, like a warm welcome to the lands that best hold their family’s remainder. Or maybe that this is the best likeness to the Tundra that once held the Brotherhood; hell, that since the fusion of Brothers and Sisters this was the last version of some sort of Brotherhood, though only in spirit and no longer in name. Or that Nerine is again the souvereign kingdom and was led by none other than Heartfire’s grandson.
None of that is as important as spooking Trekori, though.
Ice and snow come down from the northern mountain range early in the season and leave only when summer’s hold on the mainland is at its strongest. The winds never turn hot here, causing snowdrifts well into spring and freezing the autumn rain as soon as the sun turns its attention to another place.
The ice-wielding roan would never feel at home in Tephra, but here, he cloaks himself with nature as much as nature beckons to him. It’d be too much to say he’s growing one with the land itself, but the cold that seeps into every visitor’s bones might as easily have his magical touch as not.
He rides the northern winds mentally, expanding only in the winter season beyond the borders of the northern kingdoms. It’s how he found Brennen once, though he knows it’s not he who made him stay awake, but his nephew. Today he doesn’t have to go so far to meet a familiar face, however: Kori sets a hoof on the obsidian glass of the beach, the last remnants of Castile’s crazy fire, and he alerts his uncle.
Blood calls to blood, he thinks, though the influx of relatives is less and less as the grow older and older. Young Trekori is no longer that lanky colt in need of a father figure, easy to manipulate or in Leilan’s case just bother. He has shed his adolescence to become a stallion, but that is really all that the ice-clad roan touches. He never wanted to start into mind-reading and the like and he sure as hell wouldn’t start with glow-stick.
Oh, old habits die hard indeed. So he shows up, albeit behind the other male by use of a portal, and adds a waft of ice-cold to his presence. Just for the idea of freezing him, but not fully, as Trekori was never built for the cold.
”Hello to you, too.”
There would be plenty things to say - other things, like a warm welcome to the lands that best hold their family’s remainder. Or maybe that this is the best likeness to the Tundra that once held the Brotherhood; hell, that since the fusion of Brothers and Sisters this was the last version of some sort of Brotherhood, though only in spirit and no longer in name. Or that Nerine is again the souvereign kingdom and was led by none other than Heartfire’s grandson.
None of that is as important as spooking Trekori, though.
tell me, have i gone insane
talking to myself but i don’t know what to say
talking to myself but i don’t know what to say
@Trekori
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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