I don't think I'll ever land; misra, kirin, any

[Oswyn]

----- It doesn't take long for her grandson to answer her call. The lavender stallion alights to the earth in front of them with surprising grace, eyeing them with an obvious interest. Oswyn appraises him right back, dark eyes lingering on his pale lavender coat and wings. She can see Khaos in him - in his handsome face and strong build - and it brings with it a rush of both affection and sadness. This grandson, no matter his resemblance, is not Khaos. Her son (she’s pointedly avoiding looking towards his iron body) will never walk these lands again. She pauses for a moment, lost in memory. Khaos had so much potential - so strong and cruel beyond his years. He could have gone far, had that vile Quark not interfered. She’ll get her revenge some day. “Yes, yes I do.” She smiles broadly at him. She is a little disappointed that he clearly did not inherit any of Khaos’ iron blood, but he is at least not ordinary. Not in the slightest. “A grandmother likes to keep track of her grandchildren. Especially those of her favourite son.” She pauses for effect, letting the words sink in. She has no way of knowing whether or not Khaos had ever spoken of her to his children. “I am Oswyn. Khaos was my son.” Then she reaches down to nudge at the little filly at her side. “And this is Misra, your aunt.” oswyn I don't think I'll ever  land

original html by rottie
altered by squirt