Mine is a Quest for a Mouthful of Skies - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: OOC (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=24) +--- Forum: Archive (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=81) +---- Forum: Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=98) +----- Forum: Nerine (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=91) +------ Forum: Taiga (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=86) +------ Thread: Mine is a Quest for a Mouthful of Skies (/showthread.php?tid=26588) |
Mine is a Quest for a Mouthful of Skies - Popinjay - 04-17-2020 She was not quite what you would call refined. Nashua whenever you get to it RE: Warrgarble - Nashua - 04-21-2020 NASHUA He likes the wild wind. It’s why when he is done in his little clearing - when his knees have a few scratches, when there is an ache in his young wings - he follows the siren song. It calls and flows, ebbs like a tide in his veins. (There is a pull there; a familiarity which he will come to understand with time.) The wind gives a command and he goes, as swift (that he is sure of) as if his hooves didn’t touch the ground. (Someday, he tells himself again and again. A promise, an oath. Someday.) The fog is thick, near impossible to guide a horse through but the wind sings. It blows past his auburn feathers and the boy goes, sure and confident in his steps and stride. Taiga has been his cradle. His wings long to stretch outside this place (and his mother had promised with sweet smiles - soon, she had said, Nerine. Ischia, perhaps. Soon, they would take another trip. Soon.) Soon is so impossibly far away to one so young, to one who is brimming over with wanderlust. Soon is still so faraway. She, however, is not. She looks like a creature out of his mother’s stories. She’s almost feral. Dark-winged and dark-eyed. His mind flickers to the fire-woman, to the woman that Elio had described but this is an entirely different entity. There is no flame here. Just wind and mischief. The gleam in her eye is the calm before the storm, the sweltering heat that comes before the angry hoofbeats of thunder. Her eyes spark like lightning strikes. Curious, he tilts his head. Nashua doesn’t quite think of these woods as his but why should he return to his mother? A storm is brewing and he likes to think himself old enough that he doesn’t need to cower underneath his dam like a nursling. ”Where is your mother?” he asks, wondering if she blew in from the sea. A wild thing like her must have been a gale and that thought does disturb him. Her mother might be a hurricane. and for every king that died they would crown another html © castlegraphics @[Popinjay] nash got 'your mom' jokes RE: Warrgarble - Popinjay - 04-21-2020 She was not quite what you would call refined. @[Nashua] RE: Mine is a Quest for a Mouthful of Skies - Nashua - 04-23-2020 NASHUA Oh, there is something on her face that makes him think of Taiga in a windstorm. She is like the angriest part of the branches about them, waving and too proud to break. She’s looking all around this forest (for who, he wants to ask? Who could be out there?) But then he remembers. The trees could be listening. He comes closer, one slow step after another until he is peering up at her. If she intends to share whatever the woods can’t know, he’d like to be close enough to hear. Not here, she grins and it fires Nashua’s own. His mother isn’t here either. That leaves just the pair of them, electrifying the air around them with possibilities. As if she means to to share them with him, she drops to her knees. She comes closer, bringing all those things he’s wondering about with her. The flaxen colt comes closer, comes closer enough to see the stark white of her star. He takes another step, wanting to know what else she has buried beneath her forelock. What secrets might she have? His ears flick back in agreement with what she says. He knows that feeling well enough. Nashua has gone plenty of places that he was not supposed to. There is danger and a dare lurking beneath her words He hasn’t fallen yet - not really. Not beyond the few feet that he’s been able to sustain himself off the ground. There has been no plummeting, no diving from any great height. It’s a thought but she strikes it in him. Maybe he just isn’t trying high enough. "I’m not,” he says (though that’s a lie - Nash has been scared of plenty of things.) He wants, though. His want overrides whatever instinct might have told him to turn around. Firing his rapt attention on her, fixing her with his own sharp green-eyed stare, he counters. "Why should I be afraid?” and for every king that died they would crown another html © castlegraphics @[Popinjay] aaannddd this bloodline is doomed RE: Mine is a Quest for a Mouthful of Skies - Popinjay - 05-02-2020 She was not quite what you would call refined. @[Nashua] RE: Mine is a Quest for a Mouthful of Skies - Nashua - 05-13-2020 NASHUA Nashua knows nothing about his fear. His father is a monster and his mother would rather pretend the world isn’t as dark as it is. While the twins have their differences, their mother had encouraged their inquisitive natures, had nurtured their inclinations to wonder about the Magic of their world. To question it. (In the case of Nash, the young colt could have done with a dash less of it.) Lemme tell you a secret. His copper ears prick and Nash lowers his head, coming closer to hear what she has to share. All it takes is an instant and Beqanna works Her magic. Where there had been a mare moments before is gone. He blinks and lifts his head, listening, trying to catch her with sound. The boy doesn’t even wonder about what a sphynx is. Whatever might eat him falls to the back of his mind with the resurfacing of a giant bird. He has never been caught in an undertow but he’s been warned about the riptides off the rocky coastline of Taiga and Nerine. A wild current of water that pulls and tugs a horse out to sea. It’s the last thought he has as the avian-like creature enfolds him in her talons. Away they go, leaving behind only the phantom sway of Taigan saplings and the slow downward spiral of a single auburn feather. and for every king that died they would crown another html © castlegraphics @[Popinjay] and off to tephra - hurrah! |