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’s been in Nerine long enough to witness the shifting of seasons. Summer blends into the hues of autumn, bringing with it a whole plethora of natural wonders Wishbone hadn’t been able to observe in Tephra. Her volcanic home consisted of purely warm temperatures, though the humidity would be lower in the cooler seasons.
Here, alongside the northern coast, the weather shifts dramatically between cheerfully autumn (trees sprouting juicy reds and pumpkin oranges and sunshine yellows, the wave-spray a delicious cool on her skin, the wind bringing with it crisp clarity) and dreadful fall (the ocean crashing against the cliff-sides so harshly the noise is bitter to the ear, the sky overcast with heavy thunderclouds threatening to spill over at any moment, the breezes turning into angry fingers dragging through manes to tug at their wayward bodies). And Wishbone loves it.
It’s a pleasant day when Scorch’s call reaches her mahogany ears. Large clouds move quickly through the sky, hurried along by an anxious eastern wind far above their heads. The colors dawned by the trees shift between brilliant shades in the sunlight to painfully dim hues under the darkness of the clouds. Wishbone moves under their sky-high bodies just as quickly, dancing around rogue trees and dragging up tufts of grass under her hooves.
By the time she reaches the burnt mare, a dark filly (younger and smaller than she) stands on the edge of the clearing. She’s seen the girl before, in passing, but Wishbone only offers a small nod of her head in her direction. She’s heard of the young Hyaline filly — under the same responsibilities as herself — and so she can understand if Scorch might push them to train together. Making a mental note to introduce herself at some point, Wishbone turns to meet her teacher’s steely gaze.
It’s an expression the Tephra girl has seen on Scorch’s face before so she doesn’t flinch under the weight of it. Nor does she speak before the Nerinian, intent on matching the keen gaze with one of her own. Regardless, Wishbone couldn’t help but feel her shoulders relax slightly from tension when Scorch’s voice broke out across the expanse. “I suppose you’ll be the judge of that,” she responds.
Both of her parents taught her the importance of self-defense and diplomacy, even before she heard of Nerine’s plans. Being the daughter of an Overseer brought with it both dangers and responsibilities (the snatching of princes and princesses has become a common occurrence among evil-doers and a daughter of a King is expected to have a certain degree of manners) and Wishbone’s parents had been prepared enough to equip their daughter with some level of knowledge in both protection and public behavior.
While her diplomatic lessons were taught by both Warrick and Wound, her own witty tongue was one all of her own. It guides her now, as excitement begins to pulsate against the sleek mahogany of her skin, and Wishbone forces herself to close her lips before anything else might fly out of her sable mouth. Her amber eyes are unapologetic regardless while her feet shift beneath her body, ready for whatever task Scorch might have for her.
Here, alongside the northern coast, the weather shifts dramatically between cheerfully autumn (trees sprouting juicy reds and pumpkin oranges and sunshine yellows, the wave-spray a delicious cool on her skin, the wind bringing with it crisp clarity) and dreadful fall (the ocean crashing against the cliff-sides so harshly the noise is bitter to the ear, the sky overcast with heavy thunderclouds threatening to spill over at any moment, the breezes turning into angry fingers dragging through manes to tug at their wayward bodies). And Wishbone loves it.
It’s a pleasant day when Scorch’s call reaches her mahogany ears. Large clouds move quickly through the sky, hurried along by an anxious eastern wind far above their heads. The colors dawned by the trees shift between brilliant shades in the sunlight to painfully dim hues under the darkness of the clouds. Wishbone moves under their sky-high bodies just as quickly, dancing around rogue trees and dragging up tufts of grass under her hooves.
By the time she reaches the burnt mare, a dark filly (younger and smaller than she) stands on the edge of the clearing. She’s seen the girl before, in passing, but Wishbone only offers a small nod of her head in her direction. She’s heard of the young Hyaline filly — under the same responsibilities as herself — and so she can understand if Scorch might push them to train together. Making a mental note to introduce herself at some point, Wishbone turns to meet her teacher’s steely gaze.
It’s an expression the Tephra girl has seen on Scorch’s face before so she doesn’t flinch under the weight of it. Nor does she speak before the Nerinian, intent on matching the keen gaze with one of her own. Regardless, Wishbone couldn’t help but feel her shoulders relax slightly from tension when Scorch’s voice broke out across the expanse. “I suppose you’ll be the judge of that,” she responds.
Both of her parents taught her the importance of self-defense and diplomacy, even before she heard of Nerine’s plans. Being the daughter of an Overseer brought with it both dangers and responsibilities (the snatching of princes and princesses has become a common occurrence among evil-doers and a daughter of a King is expected to have a certain degree of manners) and Wishbone’s parents had been prepared enough to equip their daughter with some level of knowledge in both protection and public behavior.
While her diplomatic lessons were taught by both Warrick and Wound, her own witty tongue was one all of her own. It guides her now, as excitement begins to pulsate against the sleek mahogany of her skin, and Wishbone forces herself to close her lips before anything else might fly out of her sable mouth. Her amber eyes are unapologetic regardless while her feet shift beneath her body, ready for whatever task Scorch might have for her.
@[Scorch] / @[Tähti]