04-24-2018, 10:16 PM
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
The newness of Nerine does not give Wishbone the satisfaction of spotting the burnt mare’s admiration. Winning the affections of the Nerinian’s isn’t exactly at the top of her importance list (being a good example might be, but that didn’t mean they had to like her), but if the girl knew of Scorch’s hard-to-earn heart-tendencies, she might’ve been more excited over the subtle hints she could have caught if she weren’t so absorbed in other things.
Her gaze is more drawn to the dark queen and her soft words of gratitude. It hadn’t been an issue at all — coming to Nerine — on Wishbone’s end, though her mother had been more hesitant. Warrick hadn’t even offered the opportunity to any other child of Tephra, knowing his daughter would jump at the chance to train under someone else’s words and explore some other corner of Beqanna. Even after running a good portion of the way to Nerine the girl is bursting with warm excitement under her mahogany skin.
Although the tension between the two mares is dense enough to smell in the air, Wishbone shoves it aside. She isn’t the most immature of children and her tendencies lean toward a wilderness swaddled in the embrace of sensibility. But the issues that linger between the pair are none of her own business and so she merely offers Scorch a bewilderingly unrestrained smile. Her aim is to bring about peace to the burnt mare’s mind — to prove there is no fear in her heart for this shadow-coddled creature — but it looks more akin to the sunkissed, reckless expression she had given Trekori those many days ago on the midnight beach.
Her sunset eyes drift toward Hestia again, curious to see the queen’s reaction to Scorch’s reassuring words, but she’s lost in thought. Before Wishbone can wonder what the queen is thinking about, the shadow-creature is slinking closer. It calls itself Oblivion, asking to touch her. A tendril of curiosity worms against her heart; Khaedrik’s shadow-wolf had never touched her, kept at bay by the boy’s stern voice and quiet (dangerous) hands.
She steps closer to Oblivion, sable nose almost touching shadow nose. “Yes,” she whispers. It’s a hush — silent only to the creature’s ears — underneath the whisk of the wind and roar of the ocean.
Her gaze is more drawn to the dark queen and her soft words of gratitude. It hadn’t been an issue at all — coming to Nerine — on Wishbone’s end, though her mother had been more hesitant. Warrick hadn’t even offered the opportunity to any other child of Tephra, knowing his daughter would jump at the chance to train under someone else’s words and explore some other corner of Beqanna. Even after running a good portion of the way to Nerine the girl is bursting with warm excitement under her mahogany skin.
Although the tension between the two mares is dense enough to smell in the air, Wishbone shoves it aside. She isn’t the most immature of children and her tendencies lean toward a wilderness swaddled in the embrace of sensibility. But the issues that linger between the pair are none of her own business and so she merely offers Scorch a bewilderingly unrestrained smile. Her aim is to bring about peace to the burnt mare’s mind — to prove there is no fear in her heart for this shadow-coddled creature — but it looks more akin to the sunkissed, reckless expression she had given Trekori those many days ago on the midnight beach.
Her sunset eyes drift toward Hestia again, curious to see the queen’s reaction to Scorch’s reassuring words, but she’s lost in thought. Before Wishbone can wonder what the queen is thinking about, the shadow-creature is slinking closer. It calls itself Oblivion, asking to touch her. A tendril of curiosity worms against her heart; Khaedrik’s shadow-wolf had never touched her, kept at bay by the boy’s stern voice and quiet (dangerous) hands.
She steps closer to Oblivion, sable nose almost touching shadow nose. “Yes,” she whispers. It’s a hush — silent only to the creature’s ears — underneath the whisk of the wind and roar of the ocean.
@[Scorch] @[Hestia]