bottom of the deep blue sea; wishbone/any

[Wishbone]

she’s got jumper cable lips
she’s got sunset on her breath. now i inhaled just a little bit, now i’ve got no fear of death

A cloud of gray warmth forms in front of Wishbone’s sable mouth when she moves to smile at Ardashir. With winter fast approaching Nerine, their days have become chilly and their nights chillier still. Although the bitterness of the season provides a certain rustic beauty to the northern kingdom (snow-dipped cliffs and frozen ice chips among sand and frost-tipped beach grass), Wishbone can’t help but dream of the humid warmth of Tephra and the pulsating comfort of the volcano.

“I was expecting something a little more dangerous.” The mahogany Khaleesi tosses a wink in Ardashir’s direction as they begin to move across the landscape. The ivory stallion has quickly become a close friend and his promotion to Najahak was no mistake. His dedication to Nerine and her queen has been proven throughout their conversations and Wishbone is pleased to have him accompany her on this particular task.

The queen’s sunset eyes scan over the tobiano mare as they come to a halt, grass crunching underfoot from the chill of the air. Another smile, spiced with flavors of curiosity, dances across Wishbone’s svelte mouth. Before she can say anything, Ardashir speaks to the newcomer and her agitated youngster — the mahogany’s eyes are somewhat more piercing when they hear of the stranger’s name. A scent (familiar and musky, bringing memories of frequent nights) winds along Isobell’s skin alongside her own and Wishbone feels the warmth of amusement blossom in her stomach.

Nonetheless, her joviality at this personal discovery doesn’t shine into her facial expression or voice as she speaks. “Welcome back to Nerine, Isobell.” Her parents spent time teaching her the manners and etiquette a princess should have and Scorch even dedicated a few training sessions to the history of Nerine. She’s heard Isobell’s name before, though only in history lessons and subtly from the mouth of a particular kelpie stallion.

The gruffness of a familiar voice reaches Wishbone’s ears and her lithe head turns to spot Scorch’s approach. Curiosity is flourishing in the queen’s stomach, so she offers only a warm nod of her head toward her Dosh rather than a true, blazing smile like she traditionally might do. Ardashir flows well into the conversation, introducing himself with the same flaw as Scorch, but the mahogany mare’s gaze pinpoints Isobell and the yearling trailing behind her.

Finally, she has a moment to speak again. “I’m Wishbone and I believe I’m the one you seek.” Judging by the way Isobell carries herself, she is the caretaker of the filly. Yet Wishbone has never been one to doubt the ways of the young, having flourished and grown rapidly in her youth herself, so her amber eyes slide easily away from the tobiano’s face toward the child. “And who might you be?”

wishbone

@[Isobell] / @[Ardashir] / @[Scorch] / sorry i'm so late! we can just pretend she was here the whole time :/ also, of course she's willing to bring her into nerine... please let me know what caste system you would like mist in. drom, i altered the timeline a little bit, but we can just say they were hanging out together, haha.