04-17-2018, 12:08 AM
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
She knows little of the one who will replace her at home. She never did have the chance of meeting the other yearling, but in truth it’s hardly something that’s on her mind as she stands at the edge of Nerine. An entire year’s worth of possibilities lie spread beneath her feet, just waiting for her to reach out and touch them.
Little does she know these possibilities come in the form of a mare so burnt that Wishbone audibly gasps. It’s something she’s never seen before (out of all the many things she’s seen in her life so far) and her sunset eyes scan over the other’s body, curious but subtle. Before she gets too far ahead of herself, Wishbone forces herself to rein in and focus on the task at hand. She is here to represent Tephra above anything else; she must do her best to make only allies here.
She stands steady as the mare’s eyes critique her growing body. Although she is still young, her frame shows signs of maturity and possibility — she’s slowly blossoming into slender curves shaped by sinewy muscle. Wishbone raises her chin in the face of the Nerinian’s judgement and waits for the eventual question of her presence.
“Yes, I am.” Her voice is young, but already fashioned with an underlying roughness from the effects of the ash of Tephra. It’s a pleasant sound nonetheless, a melodic combination of honey and whiskey. “My name’s Wishbone.” She doesn’t add her relationship to Tephra’s Overseer, finding it unnecessary in this situation. Would their treatment of her change if they knew her as the precious daughter of Warrick? Would they treat her less roughly and more like a princess?
She’s determined to be the complete opposite of a glamorous princess (if that’s any indication from her windswept mane and scarred knees) so she keeps her lips sealed. Her amber eyes turn toward another figure approaching, this one with a creature in tow. Wishbone’s gaze is curious once again; Nerine is proving to be a very interesting place.
Her parents have told her about Nerine’s queen Hestia and so her head dips into a polite, regal nod. “Queen Hestia, thank you for having me.” She’s on her best behavior (clearly) but her gaze can’t stop from wandering toward the creature at the queen’s heels. It looks disgustingly terrifying, but Wishbone’s never been one to scare easy. Her brows raise when the creature speaks inside her mind, but she finds her lips moving into a hesitant smile.
It reminds her of Khaedrik and his shadow-wolf in the woods, a thought that might be ill-fitting to anyone else but brings happy memories to Wishbone. Her voice speaks aloud, rough around the edges but smooth in the midst. “What are you?”
Little does she know these possibilities come in the form of a mare so burnt that Wishbone audibly gasps. It’s something she’s never seen before (out of all the many things she’s seen in her life so far) and her sunset eyes scan over the other’s body, curious but subtle. Before she gets too far ahead of herself, Wishbone forces herself to rein in and focus on the task at hand. She is here to represent Tephra above anything else; she must do her best to make only allies here.
She stands steady as the mare’s eyes critique her growing body. Although she is still young, her frame shows signs of maturity and possibility — she’s slowly blossoming into slender curves shaped by sinewy muscle. Wishbone raises her chin in the face of the Nerinian’s judgement and waits for the eventual question of her presence.
“Yes, I am.” Her voice is young, but already fashioned with an underlying roughness from the effects of the ash of Tephra. It’s a pleasant sound nonetheless, a melodic combination of honey and whiskey. “My name’s Wishbone.” She doesn’t add her relationship to Tephra’s Overseer, finding it unnecessary in this situation. Would their treatment of her change if they knew her as the precious daughter of Warrick? Would they treat her less roughly and more like a princess?
She’s determined to be the complete opposite of a glamorous princess (if that’s any indication from her windswept mane and scarred knees) so she keeps her lips sealed. Her amber eyes turn toward another figure approaching, this one with a creature in tow. Wishbone’s gaze is curious once again; Nerine is proving to be a very interesting place.
Her parents have told her about Nerine’s queen Hestia and so her head dips into a polite, regal nod. “Queen Hestia, thank you for having me.” She’s on her best behavior (clearly) but her gaze can’t stop from wandering toward the creature at the queen’s heels. It looks disgustingly terrifying, but Wishbone’s never been one to scare easy. Her brows raise when the creature speaks inside her mind, but she finds her lips moving into a hesitant smile.
It reminds her of Khaedrik and his shadow-wolf in the woods, a thought that might be ill-fitting to anyone else but brings happy memories to Wishbone. Her voice speaks aloud, rough around the edges but smooth in the midst. “What are you?”
@[Scorch] @[Hestia] this is all over the place I'm so sorry D: