08-10-2019, 03:27 PM
A soft breath of true wind ripples past them as Oriash confirms that the figure in front of him is truly her. It carries with it the scent of full summer, and the warmth of earth baked beneath the sun. Ori no longer smells of the Silver Cove, Pteron realizes. The last time he’d seen her there had remained something of the coastal kingdom, yet the leopard filly in front of him is entirely of Loess. The tobiano stallion has wondered why she’d stayed past the terms of her captivity and then after the smoke of war cleared, but he has been grateful enough for her continued presence that he’d not dug further for answers.
Pteron knows that there are changes in the West, and that the Sanctuary that her mothers had founded is reshaping itself into a new creature. He does not know much beyond that change is happening; the details are not of much interest to the olive-eyed stallion. Those eyes are fixed on Oriash as she answers him. There is no qualifier in what she says, but the pause after her admission of liking it in Loess sounds to Pteron like empathy much more than sympathy. It reminds him that he has never asked.
“There’s nothing keep you here,” he says, and though his tone betrays nothing his green gaze does flick back toward her briefly from the horizon onto which it has wandered. “You could go and see everything else that’s out there.” He lets that hang there for only a moment, adding: “I’ve heard the Icicle Isle has the best views of the northern lights in the winter, but I bet they’d still be nice in the fall. We wouldn’t turn to icicles if we go early enough either.”
@[Oriash]
Pteron knows that there are changes in the West, and that the Sanctuary that her mothers had founded is reshaping itself into a new creature. He does not know much beyond that change is happening; the details are not of much interest to the olive-eyed stallion. Those eyes are fixed on Oriash as she answers him. There is no qualifier in what she says, but the pause after her admission of liking it in Loess sounds to Pteron like empathy much more than sympathy. It reminds him that he has never asked.
“There’s nothing keep you here,” he says, and though his tone betrays nothing his green gaze does flick back toward her briefly from the horizon onto which it has wandered. “You could go and see everything else that’s out there.” He lets that hang there for only a moment, adding: “I’ve heard the Icicle Isle has the best views of the northern lights in the winter, but I bet they’d still be nice in the fall. We wouldn’t turn to icicles if we go early enough either.”
@[Oriash]