The voice arrived before Tipsy had finished deciding whether she was upright, and she startled hard enough that two of her foxfire flames swerved wide and had to correct themselves mid-orbit, looking, if flames could look like anything, mildly embarrassed on her behalf.
The mare standing in the lavender was, in a word, composed. Feathered wings. Clear eyes. The unhurried bearing of someone who had never once been flung sideways through reality by her own sinuses. Tipsy became abruptly aware of the fairy dust still settling out of her mane, of the grass stain forming on one white shoulder, of the fact that her greeting to this land had technically been Ow.
"Beautiful," she agreed, a half beat too late. Her voice came out rougher than she wanted. She cleared it. "Yeah... It's... Yeah." Her antennae swept forward, tasting the air between them, and found nothing sharp in it. No warning. Just lavender and warmth and this stranger's easy curiosity, which was somehow more disarming than a threat would have been.
"I'm Tipsy," she offered. One elongated ear tipped toward the mare, the other still angled back toward the horizon, unwilling to fully commit. "And it's my first time, technically. Though I want to be clear that I didn't come here so much as I was expelled into it." She lifted her chin slightly, mustering what dignity remained. "I sneezed." She let that sit. "I'm aware of how that sounds. I sneezed, and the magic took it as a suggestion, and now I'm standing in your lavender." As if in confirmation, the water lilies at her chest pulsed once, soft and gold-green, then dimmed like something falling back asleep. Her wings gave a small involuntary flutter, shedding a last thin drift of dust that caught the morning light and hung there, glittering, refusing to be dignified. Tipsy watched a single grain land on a lavender stalk and thought, stop helping.
She looked back at Aera. The older mare hadn't flinched at any of it, which said something. "The Gates," she repeated, testing the shape of it in her mouth. "Well. That's a first. I've never heard of it." Her gaze moved past Aera, out across the impossible violet of the field. "But I guess I'm seeing it." She turned her head toward the deep stretch of lavender, toward the vast old shape at its heart, the thing that had been sitting at the edge of her attention since she'd stood up and that she had been very deliberately not looking at directly. Her foxfire had already made its choice. The one flame that had drifted ahead of her earlier was still out there, small and green and unbothered, floating patiently in the direction of the tree like it was waiting for her to catch up.
"I'd like to know what that is," she said, nodding toward it, "because I've been calling it a tree in my head for about four minutes now and I'm losing confidence in the word."
@
Aera
The mare standing in the lavender was, in a word, composed. Feathered wings. Clear eyes. The unhurried bearing of someone who had never once been flung sideways through reality by her own sinuses. Tipsy became abruptly aware of the fairy dust still settling out of her mane, of the grass stain forming on one white shoulder, of the fact that her greeting to this land had technically been Ow.
"Beautiful," she agreed, a half beat too late. Her voice came out rougher than she wanted. She cleared it. "Yeah... It's... Yeah." Her antennae swept forward, tasting the air between them, and found nothing sharp in it. No warning. Just lavender and warmth and this stranger's easy curiosity, which was somehow more disarming than a threat would have been.
"I'm Tipsy," she offered. One elongated ear tipped toward the mare, the other still angled back toward the horizon, unwilling to fully commit. "And it's my first time, technically. Though I want to be clear that I didn't come here so much as I was expelled into it." She lifted her chin slightly, mustering what dignity remained. "I sneezed." She let that sit. "I'm aware of how that sounds. I sneezed, and the magic took it as a suggestion, and now I'm standing in your lavender." As if in confirmation, the water lilies at her chest pulsed once, soft and gold-green, then dimmed like something falling back asleep. Her wings gave a small involuntary flutter, shedding a last thin drift of dust that caught the morning light and hung there, glittering, refusing to be dignified. Tipsy watched a single grain land on a lavender stalk and thought, stop helping.
She looked back at Aera. The older mare hadn't flinched at any of it, which said something. "The Gates," she repeated, testing the shape of it in her mouth. "Well. That's a first. I've never heard of it." Her gaze moved past Aera, out across the impossible violet of the field. "But I guess I'm seeing it." She turned her head toward the deep stretch of lavender, toward the vast old shape at its heart, the thing that had been sitting at the edge of her attention since she'd stood up and that she had been very deliberately not looking at directly. Her foxfire had already made its choice. The one flame that had drifted ahead of her earlier was still out there, small and green and unbothered, floating patiently in the direction of the tree like it was waiting for her to catch up.
"I'd like to know what that is," she said, nodding toward it, "because I've been calling it a tree in my head for about four minutes now and I'm losing confidence in the word."
@
Aera