10-15-2019, 10:37 PM
The edges of his vision fade out in a symptom Pteron recognizes as belonging to weariness. The rim of darkness is not unfamiliar; he likes the way it blurs away at least a little of the world. Pteron himself is absent in the world, at least as a visible presence. He is instead a pegasus-shaped space through which the mist cannot travel.
The last time he had been invisible here was to startle his siblings as the finale to a ghost story they were telling. Pteron almost smiles at the memory. A fresh scar twists across his throat, from his left cheek down nearly to his right shoulder, and as he fades back into visibility it seems almost too pink.
He’d seen her in the trees far ahead: an unmistakeable combination of colors and patterns. The cloying fog holds her scent – red Loessian dust and her own unique aroma – and he trails her with ease. Pteron’s step is light, a careful slide across the thick pine carpet, and when he is just barely out of reach of a good hind-kick, stomps loudly against an exposed redwood root. Meaning to startle her, he stays back with a wicked grin on his face, his olive eyes bright as he searches her face for a reaction.
Pteron had not remembered his promise until he had seen her, and he knows without looking up that the rising moon will be barely wider than a blade of grass. ”You’re a few days early.” He tells her, the weariness in his expression absent in his amused words. “Fortunately for you though, I happen to be free tonight as well.”
There is a twinge along his throat
The last time he had been invisible here was to startle his siblings as the finale to a ghost story they were telling. Pteron almost smiles at the memory. A fresh scar twists across his throat, from his left cheek down nearly to his right shoulder, and as he fades back into visibility it seems almost too pink.
He’d seen her in the trees far ahead: an unmistakeable combination of colors and patterns. The cloying fog holds her scent – red Loessian dust and her own unique aroma – and he trails her with ease. Pteron’s step is light, a careful slide across the thick pine carpet, and when he is just barely out of reach of a good hind-kick, stomps loudly against an exposed redwood root. Meaning to startle her, he stays back with a wicked grin on his face, his olive eyes bright as he searches her face for a reaction.
Pteron had not remembered his promise until he had seen her, and he knows without looking up that the rising moon will be barely wider than a blade of grass. ”You’re a few days early.” He tells her, the weariness in his expression absent in his amused words. “Fortunately for you though, I happen to be free tonight as well.”
There is a twinge along his throat
-- pteron --
@[oriash]