08-14-2019, 08:08 PM
He has been watching her, observing her just as she adoringly traces her eyes across the trees and grass. It’s beautiful how delicately she absorbs the world and dives headfirst into the wonders of the world. Somehow, Erio can read her fascination and concern and joy for this new land because it isn’t her home – or at least, wasn’t. This is all nearly as new to her as it is to him, but Erio’s skin reeks of Beqanna. He is one of the many generations borne to this wild place, but that doesn’t spare him from the enchantment. Thus far, he has only surrounded himself with the barren cliffs of Pangea, the open fields of the meadow, and the density of the forest.
There still remains so much to explore, to enjoy, and he has already promised himself to visit each of the lands in attempt to educate himself in ways outside of warfare.
If only he knew that she dreams the same.
Her voice is the soft chords of a harp, lulling him into serenity as the moon shines high above. The softness of her eyes elicits a warm grin in return. ”Hello,” he says back in between the sound of crickets chirping, ”it’s too pretty of a night.” And though it is, oftentimes his thoughts keep him afloat and prevent him from drowning beneath the weight of a dream world. Being nocturnal – at least today – serves him well by acquiring him company and a sense of wanting that he so often lacks. ”Not boring at all!” He cannot help to thump his tail excitedly against the forest floor, thankful for the compliment.
It still seems so rare to hear them (his thoughts only echo mother’s shame).
Inclining his head, he cannot help to ask, ”If you could turn into anything, or have any power, what would you be?” He pauses thoughtfully, his paw scraping against a leaf. ”What would you find exciting?” Because although his plumed tail isn’t boring, it also isn’t enthralling.
There still remains so much to explore, to enjoy, and he has already promised himself to visit each of the lands in attempt to educate himself in ways outside of warfare.
If only he knew that she dreams the same.
Her voice is the soft chords of a harp, lulling him into serenity as the moon shines high above. The softness of her eyes elicits a warm grin in return. ”Hello,” he says back in between the sound of crickets chirping, ”it’s too pretty of a night.” And though it is, oftentimes his thoughts keep him afloat and prevent him from drowning beneath the weight of a dream world. Being nocturnal – at least today – serves him well by acquiring him company and a sense of wanting that he so often lacks. ”Not boring at all!” He cannot help to thump his tail excitedly against the forest floor, thankful for the compliment.
It still seems so rare to hear them (his thoughts only echo mother’s shame).
Inclining his head, he cannot help to ask, ”If you could turn into anything, or have any power, what would you be?” He pauses thoughtfully, his paw scraping against a leaf. ”What would you find exciting?” Because although his plumed tail isn’t boring, it also isn’t enthralling.
erio
@[Astana]