09-24-2019, 05:45 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Courgette&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.pteron_horse_container{position:relative;z-index:1;width:550px;font:12px 'Times New Roman', serif;}.pteron_horse_container p{margin:0;}.pteron_horse_message {margin-top: -50px;background: #fff;border-radius: 50px;border-left: 5px solid #587D83;border-right: 5px solid #587D83;text-align:justify;padding: 15px 30px;padding-bottom: 40px;color:#587D83;}.pteron_horse_name {position: absolute;right: 70px;bottom: -5px;font: 30px 'Courgette', cursive;color: #587D83;}.pteron_horse_font_size {font-size: 20px;}</style><center><div class="pteron_horse_container"><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/NfXJ4Qtn/pteron.png" style="width:550px;"><div class="pteron_horse_message"> The air that whips at his face is not the cool forest breeze on the opposite side of the doorway. Pteron almost turns back to see if the door remains, but his movement is cut short as a world forms out of the darkness. It’s suddenly too bright to see, and Pteron tucks his head away as though that will protect his eyes that have adjusted for the darkness. By the time he can see clearly his ears catc the sound of shifting stone.
The sound itself is not unfamiliar, not for a man who has spent months on the mountainside, but what he sees most certainly is.
For a long moment he merely gapes, his blue mouth falling open as the stature roars its displeasure. Somewhere in the back of his mind he considers telling the creature that it shouldn’t leave the door open if it doesn’t want visitors, but the wiser part of him is quiet. He remains quiet as the creature riddles him, though he remembers only after several long moments of consideration to close his awestruck mouth.
Pteron almost says ‘a name’, but then reasons that he keeps that regardless of who he gives it to. A secret? No, not that either.
<b>“My word.”</b> The dun stallion finally answers. His voice is sure, but there is a tenseness to his body, as though he is as prepared for her wrath as well as for being told he is correct.
<p class="pteron_horse_name"><span class="pteron_horse_font_size">--</span> pteron <span class="pteron_horse_font_size">--</span></p></div></div></center>
The sound itself is not unfamiliar, not for a man who has spent months on the mountainside, but what he sees most certainly is.
For a long moment he merely gapes, his blue mouth falling open as the stature roars its displeasure. Somewhere in the back of his mind he considers telling the creature that it shouldn’t leave the door open if it doesn’t want visitors, but the wiser part of him is quiet. He remains quiet as the creature riddles him, though he remembers only after several long moments of consideration to close his awestruck mouth.
Pteron almost says ‘a name’, but then reasons that he keeps that regardless of who he gives it to. A secret? No, not that either.
<b>“My word.”</b> The dun stallion finally answers. His voice is sure, but there is a tenseness to his body, as though he is as prepared for her wrath as well as for being told he is correct.
<p class="pteron_horse_name"><span class="pteron_horse_font_size">--</span> pteron <span class="pteron_horse_font_size">--</span></p></div></div></center>