08-10-2019, 12:18 PM
Having invited Sabrina to try the fruit he’s brought down, Pteron steps back. His wings tuck tightly to his sides to grant her room to pass, but he does not move too far away. He’s grateful for this as the burly hound shifts to an elegant young mare who passes by near enough that she must brush him as she passes. As a warrior, Pteron had appreciated the substantial mass of Sabrina’s hellhound shape, but the admiration in his olive gaze for this new shape is of a different sort entirely.
Perhaps Mother had a point, he finds himself thinking, perhaps there is something to be said for forging bonds with other lands through marriage. Surely Sabrina with her designs on the leadership of the Isle would be a suitable match, her familial ties non-withstanding. He almost reaches out to her as she bends down to taste the cherries, almost brushes the side of her ribs with his blue mouth and a dash of happiness. Just before he does though, his gaze catches on a late-blooming violet, and he is reminded of something else in that exact shade. He pauses, smiles to himself, and shakes away the silly thoughts of commitment to someone that his Mother would approve of.
He barely knows Sabrina, after all. Better to just enjoy this chance meeting and see where it might lead. Her smile and pleasure at the taste of the cherries delights him, and he reaches out without hesitation to brush some of the juice from where its settled on her red muzzle. There are no sharp teeth to be wary of when she is in this form, but the thrill that dances along his spine as he pulls away feels no less daring because of it. Rather than bring attention to his forwardness, he leans back and then takes his own mouthful of fruit.
“Not often enough to know when the cherries will be ripe,” he answers with a grin, “but I do fly over this part of the forest pretty often.” To reach the rest of the common lands he must choose between flight over the Forest or Hyaline, and he has been taught that a neutral land is a better choice. “But I’m usually in Taiga or Loess.” Or flying over the Brilliant Pampas or Sylva, he doesn’t add. He is not sure that an airborne patrol truly counts as being somewhere.
“I’d been planning on visiting the Icicle Isle,” Pteron tells her after swallowing another bite. “I went once in the daylight, but I was told that the view of the northern lights are even better after nightfall.” He does not doubt the truthfulness of the two stallions who’d said as much, but there is a curios light in his olive eyes, as if he waits for Sabrina to confirm or deny this.
@[Sabrina]
Perhaps Mother had a point, he finds himself thinking, perhaps there is something to be said for forging bonds with other lands through marriage. Surely Sabrina with her designs on the leadership of the Isle would be a suitable match, her familial ties non-withstanding. He almost reaches out to her as she bends down to taste the cherries, almost brushes the side of her ribs with his blue mouth and a dash of happiness. Just before he does though, his gaze catches on a late-blooming violet, and he is reminded of something else in that exact shade. He pauses, smiles to himself, and shakes away the silly thoughts of commitment to someone that his Mother would approve of.
He barely knows Sabrina, after all. Better to just enjoy this chance meeting and see where it might lead. Her smile and pleasure at the taste of the cherries delights him, and he reaches out without hesitation to brush some of the juice from where its settled on her red muzzle. There are no sharp teeth to be wary of when she is in this form, but the thrill that dances along his spine as he pulls away feels no less daring because of it. Rather than bring attention to his forwardness, he leans back and then takes his own mouthful of fruit.
“Not often enough to know when the cherries will be ripe,” he answers with a grin, “but I do fly over this part of the forest pretty often.” To reach the rest of the common lands he must choose between flight over the Forest or Hyaline, and he has been taught that a neutral land is a better choice. “But I’m usually in Taiga or Loess.” Or flying over the Brilliant Pampas or Sylva, he doesn’t add. He is not sure that an airborne patrol truly counts as being somewhere.
“I’d been planning on visiting the Icicle Isle,” Pteron tells her after swallowing another bite. “I went once in the daylight, but I was told that the view of the northern lights are even better after nightfall.” He does not doubt the truthfulness of the two stallions who’d said as much, but there is a curios light in his olive eyes, as if he waits for Sabrina to confirm or deny this.
@[Sabrina]