i’ve never fallen from quite this high; reia

[Pteron]

He stands on the thin strip of sandy beach, looking northwest to where the sun has begun to sink behind the horizon. Somewhere over there is the Brilliant Pampas. Pteron knows it is there, its endless familiar grasslands slowly turning golden as the days grow shorter. 

This will be the tobiano colt's first winter in Loess, as well as his first winter alone. 

At nearly two, the winged Pteron is not especially young, but the instinctual longing for the comfort of a family still has a tight hold on him. It is a result of having being very suddenly alone last spring, when his parents had gone away for safety and Pteron had insisted he was old enough to be on his own, and old enough to stay by himself. He hadn't been, he knows now, but it was too late to change his mind.

Instead he makes the best of the life that he has chosen for himself. The rolling hills of Loess are at his back, turned orange in the fading autumn light. Even Pteron's own cremello coat is tinged with gold, a matching shade to the trees that wear their autumn finery. He shakes the dark pinions of his feathers as a cool breezes basses by, stirring his flaxen hair and the pale sand of the beach as it goes.

His day had been spent circling the border of the kingdom. From time to time he took a few passes over the heartland to ensure that the captives were still visible (they always were), but for the most part he spun lazy circles on the autumnal headwinds and practiced his ariel dives. The muscles of his white and blue wings are sore, but in a way that Pteron knows will fade by the first light of dawn. Aches and pains are temporary for the dun pegasus; for whom even shattered bones heals in seconds. He’d been hoping for a conversation, but most of the residents of Loess have been distracted by pursuits other than conversation with a pre-adolescent boy. 

Pteron knows what they’re doing out there, but the appeal is lost on him. He’d rather have an adventure than spend time panting in the shadows with someone else, no matter how soft their sunset colored skin or how pretty their amethyst eyes. He’d rather take a swim, for sure, and that is what has brought him to the beach. Now that he is here though, the water feels a bit too cool against his fetlocks, and he wonders if prehaps one of the warm springs farther inland might be a better choice on this chilly evening. 
@[Reia]

ooc i have no idea why the font hates me and im too incompetent to change it but at least it is readable 

[Reia]

no one really knows what the ocean hides
but you and I, bird, we’re gonna find out

Father is on the boy’s skin, but the scent is faint and so very new. The uncertainty of the boy’s arrival has lured and captured Reia’s attention, enough so that she follows him from a distance. Much like her parents, she exhibits predatory instincts – stalking prey, for one – that easily enough steer her in the correct direction even when the cremello disappears beyond hills and rocky outposts. Occasionally, she permits an extensive wait before resuming her pursuit as to not seem obvious.

Unfortunately, when he reaches the beach, Reia knows the hunt has nearly ended.

He dips his lower legs into the cool tide, letting the water encompass him while he contemplatively looks around. Still curious, she tucks herself behind some rocks and a cactus to further examine him and how the sunlight seemingly soaks into his skin, painting him beautifully with the reflective water contrasted behind him.

He has been wandering Loess, and determining he has already been met by father, the girl slips out from her cover with the assumption that he already lives here – that he will be among them from now until whenever he decides otherwise.

Finally, someone her age.

With a mild acceptance that he is one of them, she spares an aggressive greeting. ”Hello,” she forces herself to say, smiling with jagged teeth that catch the receding sunlight as she continues edging closer, stopping at the shoreline. ”I’m Reia. Who are you?” This, admittedly, is already he most mature and well-handled conversation. Most others have warranted bites, nips, blood, and scornful words. Conversation hasn’t been a forte thus far in life. Being well-spoken has fallen far down her list of priorities, taking more kindly toward hunting and stalking.

and I'll be next to you when the lights go out

Reia

@[Pteron]

[Pteron]

The young man’s reaction to Reia is much the same as it had been to her mother: fear.

It comes from a part of himself that Pteron cannot control, that subconscious and ever-present wariness of a prey animal. It is not intense, buffered by consciousness and his adolescent confidence, but it sends a flare of adrenaline to burn through his veins not unlike the flames that he almost sees behind Reia’s perfect silver eyes. The hair along his spine all but stands on end, and his olive gaze darts toward and away from the sharp points of her teeth as she greets him.

Though he had recently tousled with a lioness and led a wild canine to the water, something about the winged girl feels far more dangerous than either of the predators. It is unsettling , but the pensive colt cannot dwell on it overlong. She’s asking who he is now, and Pteron is not rude enough to make her wait (nor take flight to safety).

“I’m Pteron,” he tells her. And then, putting together what he knows and what he sees, adds: “You must be Reia.”

Much as it had when he had realized the dragon he had met was Castile, Pteron’s guard immediately drops. The remnants of adrenaline still linger in his system – rapid heartbeat, tense muscle and wide eyes – but his breathing slows its sudden uptick as he places this thrilling creature into his schema of relationships. Family, like her father. Not like her mother though, who Pteron might have taken steps to avoid while on patrol. In time the tigress will surely become entrenched in his imagining of Loess, but for now the young stallion would rather steer clear.

He is able to focus less on Reia’s pointed canines and reptilian scales, and more on the blue fire of her mane and the shimmer of her flaxen coat. She is his age, Pteron sees, remembering the words of his uncle. He also recalls Sochi’s hesitation in the word friend. That is unconcerning, he decides; he has always been very good at making friends. He’s befriended everyone he knows, really, and sees no reason why this should not be much the same.

Skipping the formality of a greeting a way common to the young, Pteron asks: “Do you know where the warm springs are? I found a bunch of cold ones and some really hot ones, but I want to swim in a warm one. I think it’s too cold for the ocean.” He’s hopeful that his description of what he’s already found will be helpful, and perhaps also impress her that he’s already found these springs while still being a relative newcomer.

@[Reia]