06-08-2018, 08:42 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
She is not without her own physical faults. Wishbone has noticed the faint, pink scars that pucker along the stallion’s white skin. Her mind had immediately grabbed at the many questions she could ask him, but her manners have gotten the better of her and she’d refrained. Her own knees are littered with various scarring, both dainty and thick — the volcano’s face has both sliced her and gashed her. There are miniscule, cobwebby burn-scars on her heels as well, from her attempts at clearing the lava-streams in Tephra and only partly succeeding.
He mentions his adoptive mother and more questions spring into Wishbone’s racing mind. “Who’s your mother? Is she here?” Wound had taught her the delicacies of orphans and adoption one day as a child, when they’d been walking between the common lands and Tephra. Still, the idea had always intrigued her; having a mother who never birthed you could be either entirely interesting or wildly boring. “I’ve been here about a year now, an exchange between Tephra and Nerine.” Yet the exchange has turned into much, much more.
She laughs at his question about watching the weather. It’s a husky yet feminine sound, as dangerous as the storm that might soon drown their shores. “Most of the time, the weather is too fucking boring for me.” Cloud-watching is a past-time reserved for shy, simple children. “If I could fly through the weather, that would be more interesting.” If the fairies had gifted her wings, Wishbone is certain she’d be trying to fly among the lightning and thunder like the careless daredevil she is.
Again, he makes her laugh (“Nothing dangerous, I hope”). Apparently first-impressions of her are not true to her character. “Definitely something dangerous,” she remarks back. Dancing in a hurricane and running through a snowstorm are just some of her hobbies, not including racing alongside the granite cliffs with her feet teasing the drop-off where the sea roars angrily below. “Do you have any ideas?” Perhaps this stallion would prefer to turn his head back to the grass and enjoy his pleasant, blue-skied day. Or perhaps he will indulge her with an adventure.
He mentions his adoptive mother and more questions spring into Wishbone’s racing mind. “Who’s your mother? Is she here?” Wound had taught her the delicacies of orphans and adoption one day as a child, when they’d been walking between the common lands and Tephra. Still, the idea had always intrigued her; having a mother who never birthed you could be either entirely interesting or wildly boring. “I’ve been here about a year now, an exchange between Tephra and Nerine.” Yet the exchange has turned into much, much more.
She laughs at his question about watching the weather. It’s a husky yet feminine sound, as dangerous as the storm that might soon drown their shores. “Most of the time, the weather is too fucking boring for me.” Cloud-watching is a past-time reserved for shy, simple children. “If I could fly through the weather, that would be more interesting.” If the fairies had gifted her wings, Wishbone is certain she’d be trying to fly among the lightning and thunder like the careless daredevil she is.
Again, he makes her laugh (“Nothing dangerous, I hope”). Apparently first-impressions of her are not true to her character. “Definitely something dangerous,” she remarks back. Dancing in a hurricane and running through a snowstorm are just some of her hobbies, not including racing alongside the granite cliffs with her feet teasing the drop-off where the sea roars angrily below. “Do you have any ideas?” Perhaps this stallion would prefer to turn his head back to the grass and enjoy his pleasant, blue-skied day. Or perhaps he will indulge her with an adventure.
@[Ardashir]