03-03-2018, 10:56 PM
hold me in this wild, wild world
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
Djinni speaks and smiles, and the words are not a censure of Brennen. Relief at her teasing words allows him to relax, and it makes quite the difference in the bay stallion. Unknotting his tensed muscles turns him from dangerously poised warrior to just a well-muscled creature, and with his mind more at ease his face softens, lips still quirked in only a half-smile as is his wont, but a laugh ready in his amber eyes. Even the topic of conversation, his inky black wings, loosen at his sides and he allows himself to take the last step to stand beside Krone, brushing her shoulder with his nose in a ghost of a reassuring gesture to hold her over while they banter, before proper introductions can be made; to assure that despite his own initial response, the situation is probably fine.
“Surely they must just be a reflection of the greatness I keep locked up so tightly within me,” he deadpans in a pretentiously serious voice. “It would be unfair if the rest of me was a great as to match them,” For a second he lets that hang, pondering their size himself – certainly occasionally they are a great pain in the neck and get in his way, but at his age, he has grown fond of them. He chuckles then, shaking his head lightly and refusing the rather bird-like and vain urge to preen said feathers. “They certainly have their uses at this size, and I am rather used to them now.”
But it is unfair to leave his Queen any more in the dark – he turns to Krone with the smile in place, a true expression that invites her into the easy atmosphere that has evolved from the tense silence. “Krone, this is Djinni, the mage of Nerine, amongst other titles since I have known her.” He does not know what she is up to exactly right now, though he feels comfortable enough in assuming she is still attached to Nerine in some manner since she still has the faint smell of the cliff-and-ocean Kingdom. “We met quite a while ago now, when the fae were still quite cross and had taken away everyone’s traits. She restored my wings to me, and thank goodness for that – I might have pined away to a true death if I had to go without them any longer.”
Is he joking? Probably, but even he isn’t sure – he flew almost before he could walk, after all, when his mother left him on the Beach with only the flock of crows for family. Before he found his father and the Tundra, Brennen had been very much a wild child raised by birds, and that is why flight is as much a part of him as breathing. He had welcomed back his other gifts, but only the wings had been the true wish of his heart.
“Surely they must just be a reflection of the greatness I keep locked up so tightly within me,” he deadpans in a pretentiously serious voice. “It would be unfair if the rest of me was a great as to match them,” For a second he lets that hang, pondering their size himself – certainly occasionally they are a great pain in the neck and get in his way, but at his age, he has grown fond of them. He chuckles then, shaking his head lightly and refusing the rather bird-like and vain urge to preen said feathers. “They certainly have their uses at this size, and I am rather used to them now.”
But it is unfair to leave his Queen any more in the dark – he turns to Krone with the smile in place, a true expression that invites her into the easy atmosphere that has evolved from the tense silence. “Krone, this is Djinni, the mage of Nerine, amongst other titles since I have known her.” He does not know what she is up to exactly right now, though he feels comfortable enough in assuming she is still attached to Nerine in some manner since she still has the faint smell of the cliff-and-ocean Kingdom. “We met quite a while ago now, when the fae were still quite cross and had taken away everyone’s traits. She restored my wings to me, and thank goodness for that – I might have pined away to a true death if I had to go without them any longer.”
Is he joking? Probably, but even he isn’t sure – he flew almost before he could walk, after all, when his mother left him on the Beach with only the flock of crows for family. Before he found his father and the Tundra, Brennen had been very much a wild child raised by birds, and that is why flight is as much a part of him as breathing. He had welcomed back his other gifts, but only the wings had been the true wish of his heart.
hold me in this wild, wild world
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
BRENNEN