10-06-2020, 03:31 PM
----------------tell me: who do i run to?
She mentions hunting, and Pteron does his best to not think of the end result of a successful hunt. His nausea at learning of his eldest’s carnivorous tendencies had not been exaggerated, after all. The thought of eating meat turns his stomach, and he is grateful that the horse in front of him has not brought with her the remnants of her early breakfast. Pteron takes in the stranger, from her gold tipped ears to her white-stockinged feet, in a single quick look. Asena’s observation is longer, the young filly either uninterested or uneducated on the rudeness of staring. Pteron, noticing this, flicks his tail at her as if to scold her, but says nothing.
Instead, he turns back to the black mare, who asks if they are the daybreak committee. She’d not been woken by their arrival, it seems, but the grazing on dry sea-grass suggests a hunt that had not been enough to satisfy her hunger. (Pteron doesn’t blame her, the seaoats here are not the best this time of year).
The pegasus stallion opens his mouth to speak, when Asena breaks in.
“Do you have another shape?” She asks, her pale head tilted curiously. Today she’s added a garland of cherry blossoms about the twin tines of her antlers, and one falls as she steps closer to the stranger. A perfectly crafted illusion, even down to the floral waft in the air. “Something like a hawk or a dragon or a bear?!”
“Asena”, Pteron says softly, his smile somewhat thinner than before. It’s not quite a reprimand, but with a roll of her violet eyes and the sigh of a dramatic adolescent, adds: “I mean Hi my name is Asena. And this is my dad, Pteron.”
@[Titanya]
-- pteron --