there's a devil in my brain with a pitchfork and a flame

[Nashua]

NASHUA

He likes the sincere smile on @[Elio]’s face. It’s easy for him to understand, to read. Nashua looks up at him with a reckless grin, unaware of how it smolders at the edges of his pale face. (Elio might recognize that too if he was looking - the way the wild parts of it haunt through the Taigan fog.)

Nashua knows that he’s being studied though. He can see the way that the dunalino’s eyes have dropped and regard him, the gold striping that marks him as different from his mother and brother just as his wings do. There is something comforting in finding Elio’s, though. It’s nice to know that there are others out there like him. It only fuels his desire to see them, to find these other flyers and these other horses who are like him. And better, not like him at all.

Nashua already has a young desire to see Beqanna for all it’s blazing differences, Fire Wing and all.

There it is again. The start of a frown starts to cloud Nash’s face but it doesn’t take long for him bring it back for Elio. He’ll bring his warmth back out. He’s like a sun, he thinks. He just likes to hide behind the clouds from time to time.

Not here though. Not with Nash.

He’s even more thrilled when the stallion places the red feather in pale mane, giving him a burst of color where there was none before.

Turning his small head to get a better look at it, he admires the way it looks. How much older (he assumes) he must look with it placed there. "I wish I had something to give you,” he looks back up to the elder stallion, suddenly seeking out his grey eyes. His auburn feathers settle restlessly against his sides, "Mine are so small.”

He likes being Little Feather. He does. But sometimes he wishes he could be big, like Elio, like his Father.

"This way,” he whispers, lowering his voice in case the woods might hear him. The pegasus colt weaves through the trees, slides beneath a large fern and walks along an older trail. Not many horses frequent this side of the wood, come this way. His sister does though.

"My sister says the best hunting is done on this side of the forest,” Nashua thinks out loud. That had been another thrilling discovery in these woods, like Elio. He turns his head back, tilting it curiously. He knows not all horses hunt - he certainly doesn’t - but what about his new friend?

"Have you tried it before, Fire Wing?”

and for every king that died
they would crown another

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