02-21-2022, 07:49 PM
A storm like this had no silver lining, she thought. It did nothing good but hang there, interrupting an otherwise pretty sunset and preventing her from flying away.
Apothica cast her eyes upon it and frowned.
This was not her kind of storm. She favored the slow, steady rains during long afternoons, preferring to soak in them until her wings felt heavy and limp. Afterwards, when she was dry again, the smell of a warm freshness would cling to her for weeks.
The kind of storm threatening to cover them now was the oppressive kind. Its dark, slashing rains would drive her into the cover of the forest, or even worse: the foothills of the mountain. There, she could wait out the disaster and continue on to brighter places in the morning, but neither was a comfortable or safe option.
Apothica is lucky, then, that she knows plenty of hidden places both ways.
All her life she’s been roaming like her mother. She’s as absent as her father, too, when she gets to thinking about it - though she hardly ever does. The solitude of her lifestyle is never wanting for company, despite what some may think of her.
Apothica is never lonely in her loneliness.
She passes by the chestnut stallion on her way south, throwing him a casual smile which says, “I acknowledge your existence, nothing more.” And hopes to herself that the weather will hold out for a little while longer. She doesn’t know why, but she turns to look over the crook of her tucked wing -
- surprised to see the chestnut hadn’t moved.
“Aren’t you coming?” She wants to know, enough that she pauses for a moment.
Apothica cast her eyes upon it and frowned.
This was not her kind of storm. She favored the slow, steady rains during long afternoons, preferring to soak in them until her wings felt heavy and limp. Afterwards, when she was dry again, the smell of a warm freshness would cling to her for weeks.
The kind of storm threatening to cover them now was the oppressive kind. Its dark, slashing rains would drive her into the cover of the forest, or even worse: the foothills of the mountain. There, she could wait out the disaster and continue on to brighter places in the morning, but neither was a comfortable or safe option.
Apothica is lucky, then, that she knows plenty of hidden places both ways.
All her life she’s been roaming like her mother. She’s as absent as her father, too, when she gets to thinking about it - though she hardly ever does. The solitude of her lifestyle is never wanting for company, despite what some may think of her.
Apothica is never lonely in her loneliness.
She passes by the chestnut stallion on her way south, throwing him a casual smile which says, “I acknowledge your existence, nothing more.” And hopes to herself that the weather will hold out for a little while longer. She doesn’t know why, but she turns to look over the crook of her tucked wing -
- surprised to see the chestnut hadn’t moved.
“Aren’t you coming?” She wants to know, enough that she pauses for a moment.
@claudius