The day was a quiet one, peaceful even, as the young colt wandered alone for most of the day. Things had gotten better for him since he'd lost his family- lost them on this very island, a sad thought. He'd since been welcomed into a new one, with kids his age and a lady who'd been happy to feed him. He still hadn't quite accepted it, however, feeling as though calling these people his family was like forever saying goodbye to his real one. His mother, violet all over, as soft as flower petals. His sister, Rossi- he shoved the thoughts of them away, trying to stave the deep sadness from overtaking him again. These new people were nice for taking him in- and he is grateful- but he still didn't quite feel as one of them yet. Mostly tried to stay out of their way.
With nourishment, his body was quickly filling out. Not so much a lanky, scrawny colt anymore. His legs are proving to be thick, though not overly long, a sign that he will not be very tall when he matures. His torso is broad, even for one so young, his back straight. Even his head is a bit compact and lightly dished, with a horn growing into a point on the center of his forehead. Most impressive, perhaps, are his wings; full and thick with feathers that blend nicely with the rest of him. He is a creamy red color, with dun markings that are the color of dogwood violets. The purplish tint flows along his dorsal plane, coloring his fuzzy mane and tail the same hue. His wings are violet as well along the thick bones that frame them, fading and mingling into the soft red of his body throughout the outer edges. He is glad for his wings, truly, as they remind him daily of his mom, even if he has yet to learn to use them more than a blanket around himself.
He walks downward along the southeastern coast of Ischia, content to let his mind wander as he goes. The sand is soft and deep, and teaches his growing muscles balance. His wings are raised a bit, though not fully extended, shading his back from the heat of the sun and capturing the seaside breeze. The soft rustling sound of the wind through his feathers is nearly as soothing as the ebb and flow of the tide washing the shoreline, as the whooshing and gentle swaying of the trees. He knows the sun is setting soon, just as he knows he should soon be returning to Lacey and her children, but he thinks he can be out just a little longer. He's sure they won't notice.
He climbs another sandy dune as he hears the call ring out- a stranger. Violet-tipped ears perk up as his head lifts to the direction of the sound, not very far ahead. Indeed, from the young boy's position, he can see the land bridge just barely visible beneath the turquoise water. Can see how the tide rolls in to hide it. Someone must have made it across just in time. Curious about the newcomer, Badden releases an answering call before descending his little knoll. Wings fluttering to maintain his balance, he breaks out into a lope, hooves barely making a sound as he moves across the sand and toward the stranger he can now see within the treeline.
When he reaches him, he raises his head, arching his neck and flaring his wings a bit to make himself look a bit bigger. It's instinct to be cautious of strange stallions, though not meant offensively. "Hello." He begins, stopping a safe distance away. He isn't afraid of the man whose coat glistens in the waning sunlight, because he figures if he meant to harm anyone here, he likely would not have announced himself. Badden looks the newcomer over, settling his wings back into his sides. Nostrils flare and contract as he takes in his scent. Not of the island, from what he can tell. "Where you from?" He asks, because he is curious, light brown eyes steadily meeting the man's.
With nourishment, his body was quickly filling out. Not so much a lanky, scrawny colt anymore. His legs are proving to be thick, though not overly long, a sign that he will not be very tall when he matures. His torso is broad, even for one so young, his back straight. Even his head is a bit compact and lightly dished, with a horn growing into a point on the center of his forehead. Most impressive, perhaps, are his wings; full and thick with feathers that blend nicely with the rest of him. He is a creamy red color, with dun markings that are the color of dogwood violets. The purplish tint flows along his dorsal plane, coloring his fuzzy mane and tail the same hue. His wings are violet as well along the thick bones that frame them, fading and mingling into the soft red of his body throughout the outer edges. He is glad for his wings, truly, as they remind him daily of his mom, even if he has yet to learn to use them more than a blanket around himself.
He walks downward along the southeastern coast of Ischia, content to let his mind wander as he goes. The sand is soft and deep, and teaches his growing muscles balance. His wings are raised a bit, though not fully extended, shading his back from the heat of the sun and capturing the seaside breeze. The soft rustling sound of the wind through his feathers is nearly as soothing as the ebb and flow of the tide washing the shoreline, as the whooshing and gentle swaying of the trees. He knows the sun is setting soon, just as he knows he should soon be returning to Lacey and her children, but he thinks he can be out just a little longer. He's sure they won't notice.
He climbs another sandy dune as he hears the call ring out- a stranger. Violet-tipped ears perk up as his head lifts to the direction of the sound, not very far ahead. Indeed, from the young boy's position, he can see the land bridge just barely visible beneath the turquoise water. Can see how the tide rolls in to hide it. Someone must have made it across just in time. Curious about the newcomer, Badden releases an answering call before descending his little knoll. Wings fluttering to maintain his balance, he breaks out into a lope, hooves barely making a sound as he moves across the sand and toward the stranger he can now see within the treeline.
When he reaches him, he raises his head, arching his neck and flaring his wings a bit to make himself look a bit bigger. It's instinct to be cautious of strange stallions, though not meant offensively. "Hello." He begins, stopping a safe distance away. He isn't afraid of the man whose coat glistens in the waning sunlight, because he figures if he meant to harm anyone here, he likely would not have announced himself. Badden looks the newcomer over, settling his wings back into his sides. Nostrils flare and contract as he takes in his scent. Not of the island, from what he can tell. "Where you from?" He asks, because he is curious, light brown eyes steadily meeting the man's.