Takei
Since finding himself on the shore of the island-kingdom, Takei has spent his days exploring the various islets that he now calls home. While he knows Hyaline’s territory from the feel of it under his feet, he knows Ischia now by sight and touch (something he is startlingly more aware of after his temporary blindness). But now, the time has come. When Brennen’s call rides on the winds, the Brothers crawl from the corners of Ischia like worker ants. They are more purposeful than that analogy; they are all an important piece of this movement, working together to bring about something new and exciting and different.
He arrives and takes his place among the gathered easily. The blood-and-bone makes his way toward Trekori and Brennen briefly. He affectionately shoulders his winged brother and then equally as affectionately touches noses with his bay Brother. Although Takei has known Brenne for a minor amount of time, this greater purpose binds them closer together than any other stranger. The oryx-horned stallion eventually finds a place close to Brennen’s side, but not so close that he appears to be an equal. The bay is the orchestrator, the conductor, the proposed leader, and Takei will not be one to get in the way.
Hazel eyes spot the tanned Nerine mare easily. Grandmother. Takei has never met Scorch before; the ties between Noori and her mother had been loosened long before his arrival. His eyes linger on her burnt face for a moment longer before he forces his mind to turn back toward the more immediate situation.
When Takei had first arrived on the shores of Ischia, he hadn’t known what he was going to do with his life. So far his time has been spent in boredom and misery. Thankfully, Brennen and Trekori offered him a place among them and he had gladly accepted. The knowledge of his purpose and place among them blossoms into pride and determination, which reflects in the swirl of his stern gaze. He is no diplomat; he does not have a blissful way with words like some might. But he provides muscle and bulk to their numbers, with red-and-white cords of sinewy strength and high, sharp dark horns protruding from the tangled mess of mane atop his head.
When there is a lull in their voting, his own low voice pushes through the rhythm of natural sound (their anxious breathing, the hum of parrots, the rush of the tides, the whisper of the breeze). “I vote Brennen as the new King of Ischia.” He’s never been a man of many words.
He arrives and takes his place among the gathered easily. The blood-and-bone makes his way toward Trekori and Brennen briefly. He affectionately shoulders his winged brother and then equally as affectionately touches noses with his bay Brother. Although Takei has known Brenne for a minor amount of time, this greater purpose binds them closer together than any other stranger. The oryx-horned stallion eventually finds a place close to Brennen’s side, but not so close that he appears to be an equal. The bay is the orchestrator, the conductor, the proposed leader, and Takei will not be one to get in the way.
Hazel eyes spot the tanned Nerine mare easily. Grandmother. Takei has never met Scorch before; the ties between Noori and her mother had been loosened long before his arrival. His eyes linger on her burnt face for a moment longer before he forces his mind to turn back toward the more immediate situation.
When Takei had first arrived on the shores of Ischia, he hadn’t known what he was going to do with his life. So far his time has been spent in boredom and misery. Thankfully, Brennen and Trekori offered him a place among them and he had gladly accepted. The knowledge of his purpose and place among them blossoms into pride and determination, which reflects in the swirl of his stern gaze. He is no diplomat; he does not have a blissful way with words like some might. But he provides muscle and bulk to their numbers, with red-and-white cords of sinewy strength and high, sharp dark horns protruding from the tangled mess of mane atop his head.
When there is a lull in their voting, his own low voice pushes through the rhythm of natural sound (their anxious breathing, the hum of parrots, the rush of the tides, the whisper of the breeze). “I vote Brennen as the new King of Ischia.” He’s never been a man of many words.
watch the mind run far away, way ahead of us
Takei votes for Brennen.