05-28-2021, 04:45 PM
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His memories are broken and scattered ever since he left Cheri to visit the common lands. It had been Targaryen’s intent to invite a lonesome stranger or two into Taiga, to bring them home and explain his disappearance as a trip to boost their numbers. It seemed like a reasonable explanation at the time, and the tobiano still thinks it would work if it weren’t for the strange splintering feeling he has.
He’s been waking at random times in random places, not remembering falling asleep in the first place. His body feels heavy when his eyes open as if he has been running in his sleep, and most of the time Targaryen simply lies where he is for a few moments longer. He admits it’s an odd feeling, waking from a “deep sleep” and feeling as if he hadn’t slept in a very long time. The way his mind goes unconscious at random is even stranger — in the middle of the day or in the evening or early in the morning.
Little does he know of the wolves and birds and deer and other numerous creatures his body has melted into, or of the magic that sweeps his mind into the thoughts of such animals.
He is a large steelhead trout for the majority of the afternoon and evening. Targaryen’s pink-sided scales shimmer when the sun sets, and his fish-brain begins to settle down for the night. He’s had a busy afternoon, swimming away from shadows and discovering an unguarded group of tasty yellow perch eggs. The river current is strong, but he finds a comfortable spot where it bumps against his sleek body, rocking him to sleep.
As his trout-body relaxes into slumber, Targaryen’s newborn magic finally exhausts itself. Although his mind has only just gone to sleep, the tobiano wakes with river water running down his throat. He thinks that spring is coming to an end, but the river still feels cold from snow-water melting from the top of the Mountain. The trout had adjusted to the temperature, but his horse body immediately shivers at the cold. He’s confused about how he fell asleep in the river, especially when the water was cold enough to wake him up.
It doesn’t take him long to stand from where he’d been deposited in the shallows, but it takes Targaryen a moment to realize there is someone close. The stranger is almost a shadow himself, and the tobiano might not have noticed him if it weren’t for the dust on his cheeks glittering from the moonlight. Targaryen’s head feels heavy, and he shakes out his wings before pulling them close to his pale-green sides.
Targaryen steps quickly out of the water, wishing for Cheri’s healing to soothe where he feels too cold. The night makes him miss her beyond just her capabilities, and he takes this moment of consciousness to picture her slender face outlined by the electric green of her mane. By the time he finally approaches the stranger, Targaryen’s pressed his adoration and want for the bright-eyed mare into a corner of his heart so he can focus on greeting the dark stallion. “Hello.” His brown eyes follow where the stranger’s go, noticing the strange glowing orbs dancing in the shadows. “What are those?”
@[Obscene]