09-17-2017, 08:16 PM
Her breath is rises like a cloud, obscuring the frothing waves before her. The grey water is still flecked with chunks of ice despite the formal arrival of spring; nature has never followed the calendar - it is the other way around.
The granite cliffs of Nerine are a far cry from the former home of the Amazons.
This is no tropical paradise. There is no humidity in this air, no looping vines and screeching creatures. There are no shadowy glens and soft foliage to hide behind post-Reckoning; the Amazons have had become as rough as the sand beneath her hooves.
Djinni rather likes it. The warrior women had become too soft; now, perhaps, they can reach their true potential.
There is nothing out at sea, and so the tall mare turns from the sea. Her height is not the only change from her time in Sylva; the soft grey of her coat have been replaced with muted rose and gold, and the tangible rings and bangles of her power have disappeared (for now). They’ve been replaced with a pair of two-tined horns, as gold as the feathers of her elegant wings, as glittering as the black of her eyes as she catches a bit of movement in the distance.
She walks to the stranger, enjoying the soft give of the grey sand beneath her hooves as she tucks her wings closer to keep out the worst of the wind. Despite the chill, the wind is in her favor, blowing toward her and carrying with it the scent of this stranger. A mare, she has ascertained before she is close enough to make her out from the tees. There is another smell, something almost familiar, but a hard look into the trees reveals nothing but shadows, and Djinni assumes that this roan stranger has come alone.
“Hello,” she says, her voice pleasant and her smile perfunctory. “What brings you to Nerine?"
The granite cliffs of Nerine are a far cry from the former home of the Amazons.
This is no tropical paradise. There is no humidity in this air, no looping vines and screeching creatures. There are no shadowy glens and soft foliage to hide behind post-Reckoning; the Amazons have had become as rough as the sand beneath her hooves.
Djinni rather likes it. The warrior women had become too soft; now, perhaps, they can reach their true potential.
There is nothing out at sea, and so the tall mare turns from the sea. Her height is not the only change from her time in Sylva; the soft grey of her coat have been replaced with muted rose and gold, and the tangible rings and bangles of her power have disappeared (for now). They’ve been replaced with a pair of two-tined horns, as gold as the feathers of her elegant wings, as glittering as the black of her eyes as she catches a bit of movement in the distance.
She walks to the stranger, enjoying the soft give of the grey sand beneath her hooves as she tucks her wings closer to keep out the worst of the wind. Despite the chill, the wind is in her favor, blowing toward her and carrying with it the scent of this stranger. A mare, she has ascertained before she is close enough to make her out from the tees. There is another smell, something almost familiar, but a hard look into the trees reveals nothing but shadows, and Djinni assumes that this roan stranger has come alone.
“Hello,” she says, her voice pleasant and her smile perfunctory. “What brings you to Nerine?"
D J I N N I
genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster