12-20-2020, 04:06 PM
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Autumn has colored him in a deep shade of copper. He is used to the sudden change in coloring — from pale green to pine green to deep red to light cream — depending on the season, but Targaryen finds that the tingling sensation lingers into the fall season this year. When he wakes early on a foggy morning, the colt wastes no time in rearranging his feathers from his night’s sleep and taking flight.
The sun has just begun to rise as Targaryen ascends and his muscles easily warm against the chill of the morning. The boy finds that he likes the view of the world from the sky, where the details of the landscape fade into wide brushstrokes of a creator’s paintbrush. On this morning, the Meadow and its surrounding lands are covered by a thick fog that rolled in during the night. The climb to an altitude above the treetops and the fog makes his growing wings tired, so Targaryen spends a moment drifting along an eastern current to rest them.
A familiar cry brings the boy’s brown eyes up from observing the ground below. The feathery body of a golden eagle glides on the currents beside Targaryen, a keen eye glancing over his red and white body. The eagle almost seems to be saying, You’re tired already? and Targaryen feels like he hears a chirping, thin voice in his ear. The bird has been lingering around him recently as the seasons have transitioned, perhaps a companion gifted by his mother as a protector. He isn’t exactly sure why his mother would send a creature to guard him — she seemed to only barely care for him before he was weaned — and Targaryen isn’t particularly fond of the bird following him everywhere.
The boy tucks his wings closer to his sides and dives for the Meadow once the sun has burned away the majority of the fog. When he lands, it is entirely unceremonious. He is still learning to use his wings and build the muscles that work them, but the way he returns to the ground is nothing short of messy. Grass and dirt cling to his copper-and-ivory sides as Targaryen stands up, wincing as his left foreleg protests that particular landing.
Settled gracefully in a cottonwood tree nearby, the golden eagle seems to make a noise that sounds like laughing in Targaryen’s mind.
The sun has just begun to rise as Targaryen ascends and his muscles easily warm against the chill of the morning. The boy finds that he likes the view of the world from the sky, where the details of the landscape fade into wide brushstrokes of a creator’s paintbrush. On this morning, the Meadow and its surrounding lands are covered by a thick fog that rolled in during the night. The climb to an altitude above the treetops and the fog makes his growing wings tired, so Targaryen spends a moment drifting along an eastern current to rest them.
A familiar cry brings the boy’s brown eyes up from observing the ground below. The feathery body of a golden eagle glides on the currents beside Targaryen, a keen eye glancing over his red and white body. The eagle almost seems to be saying, You’re tired already? and Targaryen feels like he hears a chirping, thin voice in his ear. The bird has been lingering around him recently as the seasons have transitioned, perhaps a companion gifted by his mother as a protector. He isn’t exactly sure why his mother would send a creature to guard him — she seemed to only barely care for him before he was weaned — and Targaryen isn’t particularly fond of the bird following him everywhere.
The boy tucks his wings closer to his sides and dives for the Meadow once the sun has burned away the majority of the fog. When he lands, it is entirely unceremonious. He is still learning to use his wings and build the muscles that work them, but the way he returns to the ground is nothing short of messy. Grass and dirt cling to his copper-and-ivory sides as Targaryen stands up, wincing as his left foreleg protests that particular landing.
Settled gracefully in a cottonwood tree nearby, the golden eagle seems to make a noise that sounds like laughing in Targaryen’s mind.
@[Catryn]