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  • Beqanna


    Wolfbane -- Year 210


    "She presses into him greedily, hungrily, and demands more. She does not know how to be gentle when she is with him—does not know how to quell the aching in her belly, the neediness in her touch. She would devour him whole. She would sacrifice herself completely. She would give and give and give—" --Tabytha, written by Laura

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    [open]  stubborn shrew seeking helpful healer; Pteron & Day

    I never knew daylight could be so violent

    Their trip to the Brilliant Pampas, as her companion had called it, was slow. She had to move carefully and more than once cursed quietly when she stumbled and it caused her wing to jostle. Or when she was walking normally and her wing jostled. The first break she had requested had been humiliating, but necessary, and the small handful of ones she had needed after it had come a little easier to ask.

    What had been more humiliating, however, was when she realized she wasn’t going to be able to walk any farther without help. She had boldly (stupidly) continued to walk for longer than she probably should have, the fractured bones in her wing scraping against each other as a slow but steady stream of blood began to trickle from the inside of her wings onto her side.

    She tried to hide it for as long as she could but, eventually, she needed to ask for help.

    And this stallion, damn him for being incapable of hating, still didn’t leave her. Which probably made her angrier than if he had left. But, though stubborn and ridiculous, the sandy-coloured mare wasn’t stupid. It was reach a healer, with help, or … well, she didn’t know what the alternative was. You don’t see many birds with broken wings so either the wound itself would kill her or a predator would pick her off the first night.

    The last leg of their journey was slow, with the mare’s injured wing propped up on her companion’s back. It still hurt, of course – a little bit of kindness didn’t mend bones otherwise they wouldn’t have needed to make this trip – but it did help and she was able to make it to their destination without collapsing. The pain was a blissful distraction from thinking about how strangely intimate this part of their journey was. They were just so close. It wouldn’t be so bad if her eyes were front-facing, then she could stubbornly focus on where they were heading.

    But no, these cursed prey-eyes had to be on the side of her head, and though she did try to look forward the whole time, Pteron couldn’t help but be practically right beside one of her eyes and taking up the whole periphery of its view. Was it normal for horses to be this kind? Was this entire species this way? Would she be this helpful to a stranger if given the chance?

    Her head was swimming with these pointless questions as well as the pain from her broken wing and her legs trembled when they finally came to a stop. She hated this weakness, hated this form for being so easily injured. It was no wonder she had shut herself in another species for decades.

    Now that they were stopped, she didn’t pull away from him – though she wouldn’t have protested if he had moved away. Truthfully, she didn't even think about shifting away just yet. Instead, she frowned at the land ahead of them. “How…” A pause to take a deep breath because, whether or not their proximity would give away how out of breath she was, the mare was determined not to make it so obvious by wheezing out her words. “How do we find the healer?”


    kastiel x nazaire, wanderer

    Pteron and day but if anyone else wants to pop in they could
    Peron has been quite careful to remain quiet on this trip, though from time to time he does point out landmarks and once his favorite tree in southern Loess (a eucaplytus with Sedum morganianum draped from its branches, interspersed with orchids in a myriad of colors). He does not want to aggravate his companion any farther with his chatter, though keeping quiet is rather a struggle. Pteron is not by nature a quiet creature, but he is observant.

    The golden mare is clearly in pain for all she might try to hide it. He’d been on the verge of asking her if she was sure she didn’t want to prop up her wing for nearly a mile, and when she finally did it was all he could do to not breathe a loud sigh of relief. Vastra is fortunate that the only large predators in Loess are the dragons, he thinks, she’d make an excellent meal for any hungry creature if she were on her own – broken and bleeding as she is.

    Pteron has found he rather dislikes the smell of blood.

    He does not regret helping her, but by the time they reach the Pampas the cloying and metallic smell is nearly nauseating. When she asks what to do now, he cannot help but sound eager when answers: “I’ll go find someone!” It takes some maneuvering, but he slips out from under her wing as carefully as he can manage, and takes to the air. They have made it to the heart of the little herdland already, but Pteron has not yet seen a familiar face. Noah is surely here somewhere, and it is for the little roan mare that he keeps an eye out for.

    He finds her barely a half mile from where Vastra stands, and swoops down in front of her.

    But it is not the pink roan Noah after all.

    “Oh! Sorry,” he says to day . “I thought you were someone else. I’m Pteron. I’m looking for Noah? I have someone here who needs to be healed.”

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