08-11-2019, 07:32 AM
Pteron smile is slow, but twists up into amusement as his companion speaks of heartbreak at his disappointment.
“It never would,” he promises, and even though he chuckles around his words Pteron is quite sincere. “The very opposite, really.” The dun stallion shares his happiness with the antlered Aegean, his brows raised in a mirror of Aegean presenting his illusion a few moments earlier. There’s a question in his green eyes, curiousity in how his pale friend might respond to this display of Pteron’s own gift. He does not often share his emotion, feeling that it is a weak imitation of the gifts that his mother and sister possess. As a warrior, he thinks that something offensive might have been better: fear or hopelessness or cowardice. Today though, he is happy to have happiness, to be able to project toward Aegean an insight into how very not disappointed he was to have found him here.
With Pteron able to project only one emotion, Aegean is spared the many others that flutter through the blue-haired pegasus before him.
He lives here, says the moonglow stallion, and Pteron flicks forward curious ears to take in the brief story that follows. So Hyaline is to Aegean what Loess is to Pteron – the home that should have been. Instead, both of them had sheltered in a new place, shielded from the illness that ravaged the world around them. The pegasus considers asking how he likes it, if it really feels like home, but his tongue stills before the words fall. And if it does, how. How does Pteron make a place feel like home, because he has tried and tried and failed. He cannot push himself to admit this yet, not to Aegean who makes his pulse thrum and who has shifted Pteron’s tastes to tall, pale, and impossibly beautiful ever since their first meeting in the Cove.
“It’s beautiful here,” Pteron says, having stepped forward to where the trail falls away. The valley below is still bathed in darkness – only the rim of the mountainous bowl glow red with the dawn. Somewhere is the lake, he knows, but rather than look for it he turns back to Aegean, preferring to trace the peaks and valleys in his face. “I can see why you’d choose it.”
The mention of Kensa is somehow startling, as though Pteron had not been the one to name her only a few moments before. He swallows, knowing he’d been staring and unable for the first time to find the charisma he so often falls back on.
“I wasn’t.” He admits, “I didn’t mean to come here at all, really. But then I was there at the river and the wind was right and it was just bright enough and so I just decided to come.” Such impulsiveness is frequent behavior for the piebald stallion; it is the reason he’d first gone to the Silver Cove. “I wanted to see what it was like here. I’ve never been to Hyaline before.”
@[aegean]
“It never would,” he promises, and even though he chuckles around his words Pteron is quite sincere. “The very opposite, really.” The dun stallion shares his happiness with the antlered Aegean, his brows raised in a mirror of Aegean presenting his illusion a few moments earlier. There’s a question in his green eyes, curiousity in how his pale friend might respond to this display of Pteron’s own gift. He does not often share his emotion, feeling that it is a weak imitation of the gifts that his mother and sister possess. As a warrior, he thinks that something offensive might have been better: fear or hopelessness or cowardice. Today though, he is happy to have happiness, to be able to project toward Aegean an insight into how very not disappointed he was to have found him here.
With Pteron able to project only one emotion, Aegean is spared the many others that flutter through the blue-haired pegasus before him.
He lives here, says the moonglow stallion, and Pteron flicks forward curious ears to take in the brief story that follows. So Hyaline is to Aegean what Loess is to Pteron – the home that should have been. Instead, both of them had sheltered in a new place, shielded from the illness that ravaged the world around them. The pegasus considers asking how he likes it, if it really feels like home, but his tongue stills before the words fall. And if it does, how. How does Pteron make a place feel like home, because he has tried and tried and failed. He cannot push himself to admit this yet, not to Aegean who makes his pulse thrum and who has shifted Pteron’s tastes to tall, pale, and impossibly beautiful ever since their first meeting in the Cove.
“It’s beautiful here,” Pteron says, having stepped forward to where the trail falls away. The valley below is still bathed in darkness – only the rim of the mountainous bowl glow red with the dawn. Somewhere is the lake, he knows, but rather than look for it he turns back to Aegean, preferring to trace the peaks and valleys in his face. “I can see why you’d choose it.”
The mention of Kensa is somehow startling, as though Pteron had not been the one to name her only a few moments before. He swallows, knowing he’d been staring and unable for the first time to find the charisma he so often falls back on.
“I wasn’t.” He admits, “I didn’t mean to come here at all, really. But then I was there at the river and the wind was right and it was just bright enough and so I just decided to come.” Such impulsiveness is frequent behavior for the piebald stallion; it is the reason he’d first gone to the Silver Cove. “I wanted to see what it was like here. I’ve never been to Hyaline before.”
@[aegean]