IT SAYS MATURE BECAUSE WRENA IS A POTTY MOUTH.
Nothing sexual XD
City has left her eldest daughter in command of her youngest. One is a fragile looking thinker with long, elegant powdered moth-wings and a pointed face that hides a peculiar proboscis that somehow fits her other odd features. She’s a fair fifteen hands and some, sure to be a healthy fifteen two or three at full height in a few years. Her legs are sturdy and long, feathered in sensitive hairs disguised as the typical part-draft hairy leg action. For the most part she seems pretty horse-like, even with her slightly parroted mouth and extra-long tufts bending at the tips of her cupped ears. Her wings do not stay at their full width at all times like a natural moth, but fold and tuck against her body; think grasshopper, after they fly their wings flatten afterwards. The moth-mare’s sister is only just passing fourteen hands and some, but she will soon be several inches bigger than Oleandar. Wrena, a little dragonwinged bay, was born the following spring and so she is just now starting to grow into her knobby legs and long elegant neck. She is certainly shaped differently than her sister, both tall and lithe but the dragon-child lighter in her bones, sharper in her features. Olea’s pupiless eyes sparkle a brilliant green that fades from pastel to emerald depending on the moonlight and Wrena’s are a burning orange, like the lick of a dancing flame.
The pair walks to the beach once the snowy night gives way to a foggy, rainy morning. All is so quiet aside from the rolling waves and tinkling raindrops, and of the patter of their delicate feet. Their mother is long gone on a journey out to the field, a thing all three are used to by now. Both daughters like to explore the beaches, caves and tide pools. Olea has always preferred to follow her mother around – it isn’t dissimilar to the quiet, but very attached relationship her mother and grandmother once had. Wrena, however, has never much cared since her weaning. She can easily be alone or meandering on the outskirts of her mother and sister’s paths… Today though, she’s decided to not dodge her sister’s orders and stay within sight as they visited the chilly shores this morning.
This last for about a minute…
“WRENA!” Olea’s voice calls out partly in a growl. Wrena does not answer. She has let herself be swallowed by the fog and scuttles along the shore and up a cliff side of tumbling stones. Oleandar hears the clatter of stones crackling down the slope, groaning she bursts into a short stride canter. “What are you doing!? I hope you fall!” She skids to a stop in the soft wet sands, the fog and rain mixing into a thick mist but the mother-mare’s keen eyes can see her sister’s dark body gracefully picking its way up a steep rockface.
“Stop. I need practice flying, it’s not even that high – seriously shut the fuck up Olea.” She growls back but does not bother to look. As if by sweet karma the bay sister slips and almost falls, her impressively big wings of smooth onyx scales parachute outward to balance her as she hoists herself onto a lip of jagged ledge. Olea stands scowling at the bottom, secretly praying her sister indeed uses those stupid ugly wings of hers correctly and doesn’t break her dumb neck.
“You’re the worst.” Olea’s soft voice resonates through the open air as she watches with disapproval. It is all very uneventful, really. Wrena dives from the rocky lip with pin wings just to give her sister heart palpitations before unfurling her wings and slowing to land ever so tenderly in the shallow lapping waves. “You’re a complete ninny.” Olea can do nothing but reach and bite her bratty little sister. “OW! You dirty sow!” Wrena snaps back but gets nothing – Oleandar is already airborn and cackling victoriously. “Let’s see you fly then, little sister.” She teases as she swoops down, sending the mists dancing and curling furiously in her wake. And to the air Wrena takes to shakily chase after her pale, vibrant winged sister. They stay low, enjoying the obstacles of fog and stone, and occasionally splashing into the cresting waves of the sea that meets the sands below.
tldr; oleandar and wrena are flying around on the rainy, chilly shores of Nerine. i've always picture Nerine a lot like Cornwall (England) which sees more rain than snow in the winter months and doesn't get below 40F. if this isn't okay to assume than just ignore those bits, but anyway, they are flying around chasing each other...feel free to do whateva <33
Nothing sexual XD
City has left her eldest daughter in command of her youngest. One is a fragile looking thinker with long, elegant powdered moth-wings and a pointed face that hides a peculiar proboscis that somehow fits her other odd features. She’s a fair fifteen hands and some, sure to be a healthy fifteen two or three at full height in a few years. Her legs are sturdy and long, feathered in sensitive hairs disguised as the typical part-draft hairy leg action. For the most part she seems pretty horse-like, even with her slightly parroted mouth and extra-long tufts bending at the tips of her cupped ears. Her wings do not stay at their full width at all times like a natural moth, but fold and tuck against her body; think grasshopper, after they fly their wings flatten afterwards. The moth-mare’s sister is only just passing fourteen hands and some, but she will soon be several inches bigger than Oleandar. Wrena, a little dragonwinged bay, was born the following spring and so she is just now starting to grow into her knobby legs and long elegant neck. She is certainly shaped differently than her sister, both tall and lithe but the dragon-child lighter in her bones, sharper in her features. Olea’s pupiless eyes sparkle a brilliant green that fades from pastel to emerald depending on the moonlight and Wrena’s are a burning orange, like the lick of a dancing flame.
The pair walks to the beach once the snowy night gives way to a foggy, rainy morning. All is so quiet aside from the rolling waves and tinkling raindrops, and of the patter of their delicate feet. Their mother is long gone on a journey out to the field, a thing all three are used to by now. Both daughters like to explore the beaches, caves and tide pools. Olea has always preferred to follow her mother around – it isn’t dissimilar to the quiet, but very attached relationship her mother and grandmother once had. Wrena, however, has never much cared since her weaning. She can easily be alone or meandering on the outskirts of her mother and sister’s paths… Today though, she’s decided to not dodge her sister’s orders and stay within sight as they visited the chilly shores this morning.
This last for about a minute…
“WRENA!” Olea’s voice calls out partly in a growl. Wrena does not answer. She has let herself be swallowed by the fog and scuttles along the shore and up a cliff side of tumbling stones. Oleandar hears the clatter of stones crackling down the slope, groaning she bursts into a short stride canter. “What are you doing!? I hope you fall!” She skids to a stop in the soft wet sands, the fog and rain mixing into a thick mist but the mother-mare’s keen eyes can see her sister’s dark body gracefully picking its way up a steep rockface.
“Stop. I need practice flying, it’s not even that high – seriously shut the fuck up Olea.” She growls back but does not bother to look. As if by sweet karma the bay sister slips and almost falls, her impressively big wings of smooth onyx scales parachute outward to balance her as she hoists herself onto a lip of jagged ledge. Olea stands scowling at the bottom, secretly praying her sister indeed uses those stupid ugly wings of hers correctly and doesn’t break her dumb neck.
“You’re the worst.” Olea’s soft voice resonates through the open air as she watches with disapproval. It is all very uneventful, really. Wrena dives from the rocky lip with pin wings just to give her sister heart palpitations before unfurling her wings and slowing to land ever so tenderly in the shallow lapping waves. “You’re a complete ninny.” Olea can do nothing but reach and bite her bratty little sister. “OW! You dirty sow!” Wrena snaps back but gets nothing – Oleandar is already airborn and cackling victoriously. “Let’s see you fly then, little sister.” She teases as she swoops down, sending the mists dancing and curling furiously in her wake. And to the air Wrena takes to shakily chase after her pale, vibrant winged sister. They stay low, enjoying the obstacles of fog and stone, and occasionally splashing into the cresting waves of the sea that meets the sands below.
Oleandar
the moth-child of elysium & city
tldr; oleandar and wrena are flying around on the rainy, chilly shores of Nerine. i've always picture Nerine a lot like Cornwall (England) which sees more rain than snow in the winter months and doesn't get below 40F. if this isn't okay to assume than just ignore those bits, but anyway, they are flying around chasing each other...feel free to do whateva <33