.:Bloodfeather:. (Pteron, Castile)

[Wolfbane]

Winter bears down over Beqanna, leaving her skies heavy with frozen rain. As he coasts through the heavy cover, Wolfbane can feel condensation growing over his wings. It accumulates quickly and freezes even quicker, coating his feathers and eventually forcing him down into a lower altitude until he bursts through the somber heavens and out into open sky. Below him, the Pampas stretch out far and wide, undulating with brown waves of costal grass but otherwise peacefully quiet. He feels a sense of relief at the sight and continues north.

A familiar curve to the right leaves him skimming past Sylva and her hidden inhabitants, giving him enough time to glance down and see the blur of colorful woodlands before the first outcroppings of Loess mesa begin to pop up from the middle of the earth.

Just the sight of them looming in the distance - craggy hillocks and secret alcoves, of which he knew plenty - made his heart soar like his body currently was. To be home again, truly home in the sense of a feeling, not just a place, was ecstasy for his eyes. Bane was tired but as he glided overtop those outlying stone structures the exhaustion of a days-long journey left him, replaced by the rush of adrenaline.

He flared both wings, pale white and dulled by a cloudy day, then arced them down in a powerful gust of movement that sent him rocketing onward. The striped horse had little idea that when he landed, his life wouldn’t be the same. All he could see was Loess ahead and his worries behind; a son to find and a wife soon to join him. In his mind he still reigned King, so the stallion drifted even lower and trumpeted out a bellow for Vulgaris, for all his kingdom, and that’s when he saw Pteron.

“Pteron!” His thoughts became a word, echoing over the deadened hills. It was hard to mistake the joy in his tone. “Pteron wait right there! I’ll come to you!” He shouted with a laugh. The years had given him wisdom but had ceased to take his youthful, charming look with them. He circled lower and, eventually, came to a hopping sort of stop some yards away.

Twisting back on one heel, the older pegasus shook out his characteristic mane that stood so proudly upright and trotted back the way he’d flown towards his firstborn. Coming to a hill he buckled his legs underneath him and took the incline stride by stride, as adept on the ground here as he was in the sky, rolling over the top with lanky, confident ease before slipping back down the opposite side and nickering out for Pteron to hear.

Refugee of Loess : Member of the Southlands

Wolfbane

@[Pteron] @[Castile]