01-16-2018, 04:13 PM
my words are unerring tools of destruction
At nearly a year old, he has mostly forgotten having any home except Tephra. He remembers snippets of a dark face and a soothing voice, but all of his other memories of ‘mother’ are the palomino-and-white Femur. All memories of ‘father’ are the iridescent shimmer of Longclaw’s coat. His idea of ‘family’ is the little group of siblings that Longclaw has assembled for them. He knows each inch of the grass-and-rock surface of Tephra, no longer considers the sulfur smell unpleasant.
Winter has made him fluffy. Fluffy everywhere – he has a thick coat, which runs into a his vertical yearling’s mane and gives him more than a hint of feathers at his fetlocks. The warm weather has kept him from being a true fuzzball, but his wild-type heritage shines through anyway. Even the downy feathers in his wings have multiplied, but at least real feathers have finally grown in, long and sleek, giving his wings an almost adult appearance.
Appearances aside, Gansey is a late bloomer when it comes to flying.
He has done some running-jumping-gliding; he has done some flapping-and-hey-I’m airborne-now-but-whoops-now-I’m-not. He’s jumped off a lot of large rocks and glided to the ground. True flight? Not so much yet, but he’s decided it’s time. He doesn’t want to be the littlest sibling, and this lack highlights his youth in a way he has started to resent. Today, he’s going to fly.
The grullo boy has climbed part of the way up the volcano, and he is leaning out over the edge of the ledge on which he has perched, letting the wind whip his mane and tail into complicated knots he’ll have to beg his sister to untangle for him later (so he’s a little vain; who can help it?). Pebbles clatter down the mountain and over the side, knocked loose as he lean his weight forward onto his forelegs and spreads his wings, taking a breath but –
Gansey doesn’t have a chance to jump. The wind knocks him off the ledge, and he is falling, but only for a few breathtaking seconds before the wind catches under his wings and he is soaring. The boy laughs, helplessly, banking naturally to change direction. A heart-stopping moment when he is falling, losing the uplift of the thermal, but a few wingbeats and he is airborne again, flying. Really flying.
He comes closer and closer to the ground, and then spots a familiar face. He calls to them from the sky as he goes over, (look at me!), but quickly outpaces them from the sky and can’t know if they heard. Turning back he looks down and as he folds his wings, quickly realizes that he has no idea how to really land from a real height.
Shit.
The boy does his best to salvage the situation, combining a desperate attempt at backdraft wingbeats with his best effort to stay upright and parallel to the ground but in the end it’s a hard landing, sending him tumbling head-over-heels into the winter grasses, a yelp and a ground to accompany the fall. So much for proving his maturity.
Winter has made him fluffy. Fluffy everywhere – he has a thick coat, which runs into a his vertical yearling’s mane and gives him more than a hint of feathers at his fetlocks. The warm weather has kept him from being a true fuzzball, but his wild-type heritage shines through anyway. Even the downy feathers in his wings have multiplied, but at least real feathers have finally grown in, long and sleek, giving his wings an almost adult appearance.
Appearances aside, Gansey is a late bloomer when it comes to flying.
He has done some running-jumping-gliding; he has done some flapping-and-hey-I’m airborne-now-but-whoops-now-I’m-not. He’s jumped off a lot of large rocks and glided to the ground. True flight? Not so much yet, but he’s decided it’s time. He doesn’t want to be the littlest sibling, and this lack highlights his youth in a way he has started to resent. Today, he’s going to fly.
The grullo boy has climbed part of the way up the volcano, and he is leaning out over the edge of the ledge on which he has perched, letting the wind whip his mane and tail into complicated knots he’ll have to beg his sister to untangle for him later (so he’s a little vain; who can help it?). Pebbles clatter down the mountain and over the side, knocked loose as he lean his weight forward onto his forelegs and spreads his wings, taking a breath but –
Gansey doesn’t have a chance to jump. The wind knocks him off the ledge, and he is falling, but only for a few breathtaking seconds before the wind catches under his wings and he is soaring. The boy laughs, helplessly, banking naturally to change direction. A heart-stopping moment when he is falling, losing the uplift of the thermal, but a few wingbeats and he is airborne again, flying. Really flying.
He comes closer and closer to the ground, and then spots a familiar face. He calls to them from the sky as he goes over, (look at me!), but quickly outpaces them from the sky and can’t know if they heard. Turning back he looks down and as he folds his wings, quickly realizes that he has no idea how to really land from a real height.
Shit.
The boy does his best to salvage the situation, combining a desperate attempt at backdraft wingbeats with his best effort to stay upright and parallel to the ground but in the end it’s a hard landing, sending him tumbling head-over-heels into the winter grasses, a yelp and a ground to accompany the fall. So much for proving his maturity.
gansey
and I've become unequipped with the ability to disarm them
@[Femur] @[Longclaw] @[Valensia] Sorry I suck at babies and also was unexpectedly away but here pretend he's been here with them all year :/ Let me know if there is anything I/Gansey should know that happened to the family lol