He stands where the craggy rocks meet the river, frothing waves gently coaxing and pulling against the darkness of his long legs. The water was clear; so clear, in fact, that he can see the grey pebbles that line the bottom of the river. The stones are smooth with the steady flow of the tremulous waters, their different shades and shapes creating a pale mosaic of ashen gray, silver, and near white beneath the surface. A lazy mist hangs loosely over this particular calm twist in the large, winding river. It clings to the trees and rocks, as well as to the slender and sinewy shape of his youthful body, dipping into the sloping and curved lines of his shoulders and hips that are slowly filling out each day with new strength and new muscle. The moisture in the air causes his obsidian mane to grip tightly in its dampness of his neck, his black forelock plastering against the bridge of his starkly white nose.
His large, perfectly white wings nearly drag the surface of the clear water, draping around him in a cloak-like fashion. It almost obscures him from view entirely because of their massive breadth, the cold water tickling the longest of the primary feathers. Ebony horns - nearly shining in the morning sun - sprout from either side of his forehead, already beginning to grow back towards his ears with a gentle spiral. The newness of their growth irritates him, tossing his head often and rubbing the sturdiness of them against the insides of his forelegs in an attempt to rid himself of the consistent throb.
The bay and ivory colt stands stoically as the quiet world envelops him, the darkness of the wood now behind him and the slow-moving fog muffling all noise except the sound of the rushing river before him. The trees surrounding the river were bright green against the silvery mist and the early morning darkness that lingers with it. The tall trees were alive and fresh with spring’s plenty – rain and sun is bountiful, encouraging the trees to stretch high and grow, to spread their branches and leaves to cast shade below. The water is cold against his skin, icily moving past him with a purpose that was unknown to him. He remains quiet and unmoving, not wanting to disturb the beauty that was going on around him.
Quietly nestled in the river’s bank, in a little alcove where the water was not too rough and swift, he searches the clear water with his nose near to its surface, his cobalt eyes watching as tiny slivers of minnows dart through the pebbles and rock, their scales shining silver when the early rays of the sun’s light catches them. He maneuvers herself carefully so that he will not trip on any pebbles that roll beneath his hooves, and so that the small fish become accustomed to his presence, nibbling not only at the algae he has kicked up but also at the black hairs above his hooves.
It appears as if he is looking for something, but if asked, he would not be able to say exactly what.
-- warden
@[Jassal] <3
