The day was balmy, not very pleasant. A harsh wind blew down on Tephra’s northern shores, mixed from the cocktail of volcanic activity far in the distance and a low-hanging blanket of heavy clouds. Everywhere the eye could see was duller because of it, blanched from the lack of a bright sun.
The sky was mostly quiet of birds, today; it seemed like the moody weather and foul winds weren’t a good type to fly in, so they kept roosting -
- Except for one.
Just above the fortified canopy of a thick, jungle forest there was a figure swaying up and down in the sky. It looked … drunk. Obviously the wings were struggling to flap, which was why it bobbed up and down in a carousel-like motion, but it was large and bulbous-looking. Bulky.
It came into view just before plummeting down through the canopy, bringing the sound of crashing branches and chittering animals along with it.
Kestrell opened his eyes unceremoniously a minute or two later, knowing better than to move or struggle. He was dizzy - more than he’d been while flying, but that was because he was actually spinning around this time. He breathed, shivering from the sweat beginning to cool all over his pelt, and realized that there was a stiff pressure binding his legs and wings together.
Fuck, he panicked a little.
He looked down and saw the foliage-covered ground hundreds of feet below him, and realized that he’d managed to tangle himself up in a cluster of thick Tephra vines.
Damn the Gods to hell! He cursed his bad luck, wriggling gently to get a feel for how tight the restraints were, but quickly stopped. It was useless to fight against them, for now. The jungle had him tightly in her grasp. He was already weak enough from flying, and sick from an infected wound left to fester for the better part of two days. He wasn’t working his way out of this predicament any time soon.
With deeper breaths, the pegasus stallion tried to stay calm.
Think. He ordered himself, and so he did: all into the supposed afternoon while nothing came to mind but how hungry, tired, and sore he was.
The sky was mostly quiet of birds, today; it seemed like the moody weather and foul winds weren’t a good type to fly in, so they kept roosting -
- Except for one.
Just above the fortified canopy of a thick, jungle forest there was a figure swaying up and down in the sky. It looked … drunk. Obviously the wings were struggling to flap, which was why it bobbed up and down in a carousel-like motion, but it was large and bulbous-looking. Bulky.
It came into view just before plummeting down through the canopy, bringing the sound of crashing branches and chittering animals along with it.
Kestrell opened his eyes unceremoniously a minute or two later, knowing better than to move or struggle. He was dizzy - more than he’d been while flying, but that was because he was actually spinning around this time. He breathed, shivering from the sweat beginning to cool all over his pelt, and realized that there was a stiff pressure binding his legs and wings together.
Fuck, he panicked a little.
He looked down and saw the foliage-covered ground hundreds of feet below him, and realized that he’d managed to tangle himself up in a cluster of thick Tephra vines.
Damn the Gods to hell! He cursed his bad luck, wriggling gently to get a feel for how tight the restraints were, but quickly stopped. It was useless to fight against them, for now. The jungle had him tightly in her grasp. He was already weak enough from flying, and sick from an infected wound left to fester for the better part of two days. He wasn’t working his way out of this predicament any time soon.
With deeper breaths, the pegasus stallion tried to stay calm.
Think. He ordered himself, and so he did: all into the supposed afternoon while nothing came to mind but how hungry, tired, and sore he was.
Image ©Karl Martens
@Areane