Dreamscar knows a predator.
And he, though he is a predator himself, knows he is still small enough to also be prey.
It is why, as the dappled mare stalks through the late-season meadow, and as the grasses wilt before her, he stays well clear of her obvious path. It is why he pulls back a bit on the heavy hand he keeps on his dam as she peers through the flowers looking for suitable forage. The dark mare rubs her eyes against an outstretched knee and lifts her head up with a shake, as though clearing away cobwebs, as though waking from a long slumber. She has awakened... slightly. A tendril of power still loops around her heart, a single life-line to tether her to him.
The rest, well, he wears the Inducement around him so thick he can almost see it, a heady, haze. Love him, it says, pulsing around him like a heartbeat. A butterfly settles on the boy's haunch, blue and black iridescent wings opening and closing in a methodical repeat. Its antennae flicker wildly. This happens sometimes, insects seem especially sensitive to his call, and under normal circumstances, the colt might eat any that landed on him, but today, his attention is drawn by something more important, something that passes through the meadow silent as Death.
His beak parts, breath coming in a pant, the mottled black-going-white feathers across his chest standing erect, then flattening tight and close again to his skin, slick and aerodynamic. It isn't the feathers' fault the rest of him didn't get the memo, they don't know that he wears feathers no-where else on his body, that he has no wings. They have no way of knowing, and so they react as feathers always do, vascillating between trying to make him look larger, and smoothing for fast flight. And he does consider simply leaving. Nothing holds him here but a reluctance to turn his back on the mare, and as the building pressure becomes too much, that is when the massive stallion makes an appearance.
Dreamscar hisses.
His ears flatten into the tendrils of a mane grown just long enough to be called jaunty. Another one of Them, and one so absolutely gigantic that he dwarfs the grey, never mind his own crouched, lurching, growing body. Jakub may still be young, but he is worlds away from the slinking colt's awkward eight-month-old frame. Amber eyes flash as the great, horned, stallion approaches her, makes to stop her.
Who stops Death from walking?
@[Anaxarete] @[Jakub]
ooc: Hope you don't mind anxiety-boy joining in!
And he, though he is a predator himself, knows he is still small enough to also be prey.
It is why, as the dappled mare stalks through the late-season meadow, and as the grasses wilt before her, he stays well clear of her obvious path. It is why he pulls back a bit on the heavy hand he keeps on his dam as she peers through the flowers looking for suitable forage. The dark mare rubs her eyes against an outstretched knee and lifts her head up with a shake, as though clearing away cobwebs, as though waking from a long slumber. She has awakened... slightly. A tendril of power still loops around her heart, a single life-line to tether her to him.
The rest, well, he wears the Inducement around him so thick he can almost see it, a heady, haze. Love him, it says, pulsing around him like a heartbeat. A butterfly settles on the boy's haunch, blue and black iridescent wings opening and closing in a methodical repeat. Its antennae flicker wildly. This happens sometimes, insects seem especially sensitive to his call, and under normal circumstances, the colt might eat any that landed on him, but today, his attention is drawn by something more important, something that passes through the meadow silent as Death.
His beak parts, breath coming in a pant, the mottled black-going-white feathers across his chest standing erect, then flattening tight and close again to his skin, slick and aerodynamic. It isn't the feathers' fault the rest of him didn't get the memo, they don't know that he wears feathers no-where else on his body, that he has no wings. They have no way of knowing, and so they react as feathers always do, vascillating between trying to make him look larger, and smoothing for fast flight. And he does consider simply leaving. Nothing holds him here but a reluctance to turn his back on the mare, and as the building pressure becomes too much, that is when the massive stallion makes an appearance.
Dreamscar hisses.
His ears flatten into the tendrils of a mane grown just long enough to be called jaunty. Another one of Them, and one so absolutely gigantic that he dwarfs the grey, never mind his own crouched, lurching, growing body. Jakub may still be young, but he is worlds away from the slinking colt's awkward eight-month-old frame. Amber eyes flash as the great, horned, stallion approaches her, makes to stop her.
Who stops Death from walking?
@[Anaxarete] @[Jakub]
ooc: Hope you don't mind anxiety-boy joining in!