01-29-2019, 09:24 PM
The world spreads below him, wide and impossibly green.
After time on the Icicle Isle, Pteron has an enhanced appreciation for the springtime flora that paints the forest below him. He soars across the Taiga, darting low between the treetops now and then. Next he soars over the mountains of Hyaline where his breath once more freezes around him and ice forms in delicate crystals along the white hairs of his eyelashes and whiskers.
The northern air he rides flows southeast from Hyaline's lake, but the dun tobiano can see land across the expanse of open sea. There is land there, probably the Silver Cove, and Pteron wants to see it. Neither of his parents have, and the thrill of being the first in his family, of getting to tell them and the rest of the kingdom all about it, is an exhilarating prospect to the young pegasus.
He lands along a pebbled beach sometime in the early evening. Before folding his feathered wings he stretches them, practiced movements that indicate that he has been in the air for some time and is more than a little sore. The movement of his other limbs is less languid; his hooves paw lightly at the round stones of the beach. He has only ever seen the shore of the Brilliant Pampas before, and he cannot help but turn to look behind him at the sea.
The daylight has already begun to fade, and the sun hovers over the Hyaline mountains visible across the water. How long would it take to walk there, Pteron wonders? Or to swim? It occurs to him, not for the first time, how much swifter flight is in terms of transportation. He'd been sure that it would take him years to visit all of Beqanna, and he is realizing now that might be untrue. He's already been to Icicle Isle this morning after all. That and Silver Cove (if that it what this place is) make two lands visited in a single day.
He turns away, shaking his wings one last time before tucking them tightly to his pale sides. The tiny drips of melting ice from his mane mix with the sweat of exertion on his sides, and the olive-eyed colt contemplates jumping into the water. He glances up and down the beach, but sees no one, and takes a few steps closer to the lapping water of the cove.
After time on the Icicle Isle, Pteron has an enhanced appreciation for the springtime flora that paints the forest below him. He soars across the Taiga, darting low between the treetops now and then. Next he soars over the mountains of Hyaline where his breath once more freezes around him and ice forms in delicate crystals along the white hairs of his eyelashes and whiskers.
The northern air he rides flows southeast from Hyaline's lake, but the dun tobiano can see land across the expanse of open sea. There is land there, probably the Silver Cove, and Pteron wants to see it. Neither of his parents have, and the thrill of being the first in his family, of getting to tell them and the rest of the kingdom all about it, is an exhilarating prospect to the young pegasus.
He lands along a pebbled beach sometime in the early evening. Before folding his feathered wings he stretches them, practiced movements that indicate that he has been in the air for some time and is more than a little sore. The movement of his other limbs is less languid; his hooves paw lightly at the round stones of the beach. He has only ever seen the shore of the Brilliant Pampas before, and he cannot help but turn to look behind him at the sea.
The daylight has already begun to fade, and the sun hovers over the Hyaline mountains visible across the water. How long would it take to walk there, Pteron wonders? Or to swim? It occurs to him, not for the first time, how much swifter flight is in terms of transportation. He'd been sure that it would take him years to visit all of Beqanna, and he is realizing now that might be untrue. He's already been to Icicle Isle this morning after all. That and Silver Cove (if that it what this place is) make two lands visited in a single day.
He turns away, shaking his wings one last time before tucking them tightly to his pale sides. The tiny drips of melting ice from his mane mix with the sweat of exertion on his sides, and the olive-eyed colt contemplates jumping into the water. He glances up and down the beach, but sees no one, and takes a few steps closer to the lapping water of the cove.