There is little opportunity for graceful flight in the Taigan woods, but Pteron is still glad that his amusement at @[Reia]’s rough landing is felt out of her sight. From his arboreal perch, the young winged stallion has awaited her arrival. She’d come from Loess, at first nothing more than a speck on the horizon, and Pteron’s olive green gaze had turned from his half-hearted survey of the canopy to focus only on the inbound pegasus. He had, at first, thought that it might be Marni, but the creature is too pale, lacking the navy edging that runs thickly in their blood.
No, Pteron sees as she wings nearer: this can only be Reia.
The realization of this is thrilling, and Pteron steps forward to follow where she breaks through through the canopy of pines, leaving his perch. Most of the thrill is excitement; it has been some time since he has spoken with anyone outside his family, and longer still since he has seen Reia or someone from Loess. As he plummets to a stop not far from where she has landed, he realizes that some of the thrill is fear as well. He knows the emotion well – it never truly leaves the mind of a horse in the company of dragons.
Yet her father, the dragon he knows best, has never inspired agitation in quite the same way as his daughter does. Perhaps this is because Castile has never bitten him.
It might also be because flickering flames cascade down Reia’s neck rather than a wind-ruffled mane, or because she glistens like the gold her kind are rumored to collect and even the tough edges of her dragonhide cannot hide the shapely figure beneath them. But it is probably the biting, as well as the demanding way she calls him, each word spoken around a mouthful of teeth that he knows are capable of tearing him to pieces.
“Welcome to Taiga, Princess Reia.” He says, stepping from the trees. His tone is deferential and polite; all traces of his earlier amusement wiped away. Perhaps if he is especially respectful he might retain all of his body parts for the duration of this meeting. “What brings you this far north?” His mental image of her had still been that of the feral child she’d been at their first meeting, and though he tries to keep his olive eyes directly on hers he weighs the potential outcomes of telling her she looks different than he remembers.
She’ll probably set him on fire, he thinks, but young bravado and the chance to take a better look at a pretty girl wins out.
“You look much less like a lizard than I remember.”
No, Pteron sees as she wings nearer: this can only be Reia.
The realization of this is thrilling, and Pteron steps forward to follow where she breaks through through the canopy of pines, leaving his perch. Most of the thrill is excitement; it has been some time since he has spoken with anyone outside his family, and longer still since he has seen Reia or someone from Loess. As he plummets to a stop not far from where she has landed, he realizes that some of the thrill is fear as well. He knows the emotion well – it never truly leaves the mind of a horse in the company of dragons.
Yet her father, the dragon he knows best, has never inspired agitation in quite the same way as his daughter does. Perhaps this is because Castile has never bitten him.
It might also be because flickering flames cascade down Reia’s neck rather than a wind-ruffled mane, or because she glistens like the gold her kind are rumored to collect and even the tough edges of her dragonhide cannot hide the shapely figure beneath them. But it is probably the biting, as well as the demanding way she calls him, each word spoken around a mouthful of teeth that he knows are capable of tearing him to pieces.
“Welcome to Taiga, Princess Reia.” He says, stepping from the trees. His tone is deferential and polite; all traces of his earlier amusement wiped away. Perhaps if he is especially respectful he might retain all of his body parts for the duration of this meeting. “What brings you this far north?” His mental image of her had still been that of the feral child she’d been at their first meeting, and though he tries to keep his olive eyes directly on hers he weighs the potential outcomes of telling her she looks different than he remembers.
She’ll probably set him on fire, he thinks, but young bravado and the chance to take a better look at a pretty girl wins out.
“You look much less like a lizard than I remember.”