09-14-2021, 05:42 PM
A powder keg in a prison cell
His muscles cramp with fatigue and he thinks he ought to keep moving. His mother (or had it been someone else?) had told him once that the best way to combat the pain was to move and he is on the verge of throwing himself headlong into the fold of Beqanna alone when she turns up and gives him pause.
His chest heaves as he draws in a long breath, his gaze moving swiftly along the landscape of her body, the wings folded against her sides, the electric green of her mane and tail, the jewels that catch the light just enough to make him want to avert his eyes. But he goes on looking, his expression impassive.
(The green is the same color as the flames that lick their way up the horns, isn’t it? The horns that erupt from his head, his nose, the sharp edges of his cheekbones. Vibrant to the point of seeming hazardous. Strange to have this in common with the first soul who comes along, he thinks but doesn’t say.)
Her question is easy enough to answer when taken at face value: no. But it’s not that simple, is it? Of course he’s looking for someone in particular. Anyone who might offer him some sense of direction in this strange land, certainly. Someone who might have a place in their home for him. He shifts his weight and a lopsided smile ties up one corner of his mouth.
“No, not in the most literal sense,” he says and then exhales a breath that could have been a laugh if she chose to interpret it that way. He rolls one shoulder in a kind of shrug and casts a glance around at all of the equines who loiter here. “It seems like everyone here is looking for something, though,” he adds, “I suppose I’m looking for someone who can provide me with a little insight.” He turns his gaze back to her face, steadily meeting her eye. “Is that you?”
His chest heaves as he draws in a long breath, his gaze moving swiftly along the landscape of her body, the wings folded against her sides, the electric green of her mane and tail, the jewels that catch the light just enough to make him want to avert his eyes. But he goes on looking, his expression impassive.
(The green is the same color as the flames that lick their way up the horns, isn’t it? The horns that erupt from his head, his nose, the sharp edges of his cheekbones. Vibrant to the point of seeming hazardous. Strange to have this in common with the first soul who comes along, he thinks but doesn’t say.)
Her question is easy enough to answer when taken at face value: no. But it’s not that simple, is it? Of course he’s looking for someone in particular. Anyone who might offer him some sense of direction in this strange land, certainly. Someone who might have a place in their home for him. He shifts his weight and a lopsided smile ties up one corner of his mouth.
“No, not in the most literal sense,” he says and then exhales a breath that could have been a laugh if she chose to interpret it that way. He rolls one shoulder in a kind of shrug and casts a glance around at all of the equines who loiter here. “It seems like everyone here is looking for something, though,” he adds, “I suppose I’m looking for someone who can provide me with a little insight.” He turns his gaze back to her face, steadily meeting her eye. “Is that you?”
@Cheri