02-24-2016, 11:09 AM
THIS WAY, OR NO WAY, YOU KNOW I'LL BE FREE
The inescapable frigidity of winter was beginning to descend, many deciduous trees now barren, their spindly, winding branches exposed and naked to the eye - an unmistakable sign of the coming season. Autumn had been a dry one, with nary a single drop of rain having fallen since it had begun. The air was often thick with humidity, moist and suffocating, and now seemingly overnight it was now fraught with ice. His mouth felt dry and his lungs felt as if they themselves were coated in a sheen of frost, though he knew it was a gross over-exaggeration of reality. He was never one for the cold and undoubtedly would have functioned better in a desert setting, but something about the allure of the thick pines and surrounding, enveloping mountainsides kept him.
He kept his wings close to his sides, allowing each one to shield his flank with their thick but nonetheless fragile chitlin, the very protein in which built up and made for his method of flight. It kept the icy morning breeze from updrafting along his hips and ribcage, providing solace to the unusual creature that now lurked in the shadows. Morning was beginning to stir and awaken the land, bringing it to life once more with its pale sunlight and overcast skies. He steps out for a moment, his four forelegs and two hindlegs each shifting slightly as he submits himself to the sunlight. Though he is a creature of the night, the warmth of the sun feels glorious against his champagne pelt and he takes a long moment to soak it in.
The moment is short lived, however, when his sensitive hearing catches a hefty figure stalking through the foliage, their weight crushing small twigs and dried, dead leaves along the way. He steps back into the shadows for a moment, allowing his unusual compound eyes to focus on the figure, piecing together his equally unusual image. His deep tangerine spots always appear first in his vision, followed by the shape of his extraordinarily large, feathered coal-tipped wings. He knows instinctively, by scent, by sight, that it is his King. He moves closer, stepping out from the shadows again in the very moment Demian does the same. He clears his throat gently from a distance, his unblinking black eyes staring at the overall picture of him.
"Demian, good morning," His voice is low, though more of a rumbling tenor. "I've been thinking. The war is nearing, and it may do the Valley some good to know where we stand with the Tundra and Falls alike. I can see if Cress would like to accompany me and leave in a couple of hours' time."
Elysium
equus lepidoptera, student of the valley