04-14-2018, 08:11 PM
bristol
the past tense of regret is indecision
wing appearance: red and feathery.
She’s perfected doing the opposite of what is expected of her, ninety percent of the time, and leaves a very similar confused look on her sire’s face often enough that Bristol doesn’t even notice the way her companion fumbles to keep up, confused at her interest. Of course, her sire’s bafflement is usually accompanied by affection, because despite their differences Bristol has led a good life; Brennen is an excellent father even when his children are strange creatures.
Kylin reminds the bay girl that she’s not her father and Bristol just looks at her for a moment, silent and head titled, before shrugging it off. No, she’s not Brennen; but that doesn’t stop people from expecting her to be. She says nothing else about that, intent instead on having an adventure (and not by herself this time!). The purple girl lags behind but then catches up, and that is enough for Bristol, who sets off down the path with verve.
“Cool, I really would like a drink before we get too far. It really sticks, having all this salt water and so little fresh water around.” She hums a little as they move down the path, and picks up a trot when the unmistakable scent of drinkable water reaches her nostrils; hooves slide into the shallowest of water and she lowers her muzzle to the cool spring, taking a deep drink before looking around. A clear path leads off to the left, but deep undergrowth in the right has only the faintest of game trails. “What about that way? It looks like fun,” she nods towards the barely-there trail.
Kylin reminds the bay girl that she’s not her father and Bristol just looks at her for a moment, silent and head titled, before shrugging it off. No, she’s not Brennen; but that doesn’t stop people from expecting her to be. She says nothing else about that, intent instead on having an adventure (and not by herself this time!). The purple girl lags behind but then catches up, and that is enough for Bristol, who sets off down the path with verve.
“Cool, I really would like a drink before we get too far. It really sticks, having all this salt water and so little fresh water around.” She hums a little as they move down the path, and picks up a trot when the unmistakable scent of drinkable water reaches her nostrils; hooves slide into the shallowest of water and she lowers her muzzle to the cool spring, taking a deep drink before looking around. A clear path leads off to the left, but deep undergrowth in the right has only the faintest of game trails. “What about that way? It looks like fun,” she nods towards the barely-there trail.