01-27-2018, 05:39 PM
Even in her immaturity, Wishbone is a wild firecracker. Her dark, growing mane is in a constant state of disorder, with an assortment of feathers or grasses or flowers tangled among the knots. Her knees are always scratched and bruised from her own doing, whether by trying to climb the volcano, trying to dance across a fallen tree, or trying to run as fast as she can and tripping. She is brazen and courageous and untamed.
She is still a child.
Yet she ventures away from Wound on some days, a wildly independent little thing with no fear among the lava streams and ashen forests of Tephra. That’s where she finds him; in the darkness of a restless night when her legs won’t stay still so she sneaks away while Wound is dozing. She’d been following him for a while, actually. A brimming giggle attempts to roll from her lips but she holds it back, if only because she didn’t want him to run away from the noise.
Instead she slips from around the trunk of a tree, looking for all the world like she were birthed from the very depths of Tephra itself (amber eyes blazing with that intense wilderness, auburn-tinted hair tangled with a feather she found on the beach earlier, sable mouth twisted up with a witty smile). She notes the fact that he doesn’t smell like anyone from her island as she circles him, shooting-star eyes scanning over his growing horn and shuffling wings.
“Who are you?” She isn’t very suspicious of him in terms of danger, but her curiosity urges her to ask the question. “Why are you here? Did you come from the mainland? Have you been to the Mountain before?” She is blossoming, vibrating, bursting with questions and spirit.
She is still a child.
Yet she ventures away from Wound on some days, a wildly independent little thing with no fear among the lava streams and ashen forests of Tephra. That’s where she finds him; in the darkness of a restless night when her legs won’t stay still so she sneaks away while Wound is dozing. She’d been following him for a while, actually. A brimming giggle attempts to roll from her lips but she holds it back, if only because she didn’t want him to run away from the noise.
Instead she slips from around the trunk of a tree, looking for all the world like she were birthed from the very depths of Tephra itself (amber eyes blazing with that intense wilderness, auburn-tinted hair tangled with a feather she found on the beach earlier, sable mouth twisted up with a witty smile). She notes the fact that he doesn’t smell like anyone from her island as she circles him, shooting-star eyes scanning over his growing horn and shuffling wings.
“Who are you?” She isn’t very suspicious of him in terms of danger, but her curiosity urges her to ask the question. “Why are you here? Did you come from the mainland? Have you been to the Mountain before?” She is blossoming, vibrating, bursting with questions and spirit.