04-26-2019, 11:00 PM
Pteron keeps to the shoreline, his wings angled to catch the billowing wind off the sea. This is the fastest route to the common lands: the seashore and then the river, and it is one that he has taken many times. Unaffected by the Plague, the young stallion has scoured the common lands while his fellow Loessians have been unable to carry out the task. He enjoys it – enjoys the travel as well – and expects today to be no different.
He tries to keep the kingdom’s needs foremost in his mind, but now and then he gives into less-than-logical reasoning. Horses in the meadow don’t tend to be looking for homes, the recruiter part of his says. But the palomino mare is very pretty, and today that is slightly more important. Tomorrow he’ll try to find a recruit, Pteron tells himself.
Having passed her already on his route down the river, Pteron banks wide and comes to rest on a hillock not to far from the sentry pine. He folds his pale wings against his sides as he draws closer, nodding his head in greeting as he does. His wind-knotted mane is tossed from his olive eyes, and with a bright smile he says: ”Hello. I’m Pteron.”
Something about her strikes a chord in his memory. He does’nt know her – that he is sure of – but she seems somehow familiar. Her golden coat keeps him from making the connection with the other orange-eyed creatures he knows, barely skin deep as it is. The color and the feathered wings – so different from her kin’s hard scales. Her pied coat doesn’t smell of any land Pteron knows, and he is immediately intrigued by the stories she might have.
“Where are you from?” Asks the youth, answering it for himself shortly after. “I’m from Loess.”
@[Valera]
He tries to keep the kingdom’s needs foremost in his mind, but now and then he gives into less-than-logical reasoning. Horses in the meadow don’t tend to be looking for homes, the recruiter part of his says. But the palomino mare is very pretty, and today that is slightly more important. Tomorrow he’ll try to find a recruit, Pteron tells himself.
Having passed her already on his route down the river, Pteron banks wide and comes to rest on a hillock not to far from the sentry pine. He folds his pale wings against his sides as he draws closer, nodding his head in greeting as he does. His wind-knotted mane is tossed from his olive eyes, and with a bright smile he says: ”Hello. I’m Pteron.”
Something about her strikes a chord in his memory. He does’nt know her – that he is sure of – but she seems somehow familiar. Her golden coat keeps him from making the connection with the other orange-eyed creatures he knows, barely skin deep as it is. The color and the feathered wings – so different from her kin’s hard scales. Her pied coat doesn’t smell of any land Pteron knows, and he is immediately intrigued by the stories she might have.
“Where are you from?” Asks the youth, answering it for himself shortly after. “I’m from Loess.”
@[Valera]