09-23-2019, 09:31 AM
<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"> A chill wind sweeps down from higher in the mountains, carrying with it the hard scent of ice on stone as well as the softer fragrance of earth freshly broken open by new growth. Spring comes slowly to these high crags; the grass at Pteron’s hooves reminds him of the down of a new-hatched grouse: barely there, blink and he’d walk right past it.
He does walk past it, his olive gaze sliding over a little tuft of moss no larger than his blue ear, as disinterested as if he had just eaten a full meal. The gnawing in his belly is a reminder that he has not eaten in some time – days even – but he does not stop to graze nor to quench his thirst at the gurgling snowmelt creek that rushes down the mountain and toward the valley below.
The winged stallion does not look long at anything these days. His winter was spent high on the Mountainside, the only place where he had been certain he would find no one. The few supplicants that climb toward the peak had been easy to avoid. They have eyes only for their destination; they did not look twice at the pale horse. Pteron had liked that, and then had not liked that he liked it. He has not like much of anything these past months, and that hollowness is even worse than the emptiness in his belly and the roughness of his parched throat.
Raising his blue muzzle, he glances up at the higher peaks, considering climbing even farther. He’s lifted a hoof to do so when he hears it – the chime.
It catches at a part of him he has not felt in a long time, strikes a chord within him that does not sound much different from the <i><u>happiness</i></u> that he has been unable to find for months and months.
With his breath caught in his throat he turns toward it. Just there, at the edge of his vision, is a light that is barely more <i>there</i> than the grass at his feet. But as he watches, it glows more steadily, until he finds that he is moving toward it rather than up the mountain. It darts away each time he gets nearer, and again that almost familiar chime sounds. It feels like playing tag with his siblings, like letting them think he can’t catch them just to hear the joyous peals of their laughter.
It is happiness, and even if it had been something far more sour, it is at least an emotion, and he has not felt one of those in a long time. Pteron does not hesitate at the doorway, not for a moment. The little glowing orb has sparked something in him that he had thought gone forever, and even if it were monsters behind this dark doorway he does not care a whit, because even this darkness is brighter than the world has seen these past few months.
<p class="pteron_horse_name"><span class="pteron_horse_font_size">--</span> pteron <span class="pteron_horse_font_size">--</span></p></div></div></center>
He does walk past it, his olive gaze sliding over a little tuft of moss no larger than his blue ear, as disinterested as if he had just eaten a full meal. The gnawing in his belly is a reminder that he has not eaten in some time – days even – but he does not stop to graze nor to quench his thirst at the gurgling snowmelt creek that rushes down the mountain and toward the valley below.
The winged stallion does not look long at anything these days. His winter was spent high on the Mountainside, the only place where he had been certain he would find no one. The few supplicants that climb toward the peak had been easy to avoid. They have eyes only for their destination; they did not look twice at the pale horse. Pteron had liked that, and then had not liked that he liked it. He has not like much of anything these past months, and that hollowness is even worse than the emptiness in his belly and the roughness of his parched throat.
Raising his blue muzzle, he glances up at the higher peaks, considering climbing even farther. He’s lifted a hoof to do so when he hears it – the chime.
It catches at a part of him he has not felt in a long time, strikes a chord within him that does not sound much different from the <i><u>happiness</i></u> that he has been unable to find for months and months.
With his breath caught in his throat he turns toward it. Just there, at the edge of his vision, is a light that is barely more <i>there</i> than the grass at his feet. But as he watches, it glows more steadily, until he finds that he is moving toward it rather than up the mountain. It darts away each time he gets nearer, and again that almost familiar chime sounds. It feels like playing tag with his siblings, like letting them think he can’t catch them just to hear the joyous peals of their laughter.
It is happiness, and even if it had been something far more sour, it is at least an emotion, and he has not felt one of those in a long time. Pteron does not hesitate at the doorway, not for a moment. The little glowing orb has sparked something in him that he had thought gone forever, and even if it were monsters behind this dark doorway he does not care a whit, because even this darkness is brighter than the world has seen these past few months.
<p class="pteron_horse_name"><span class="pteron_horse_font_size">--</span> pteron <span class="pteron_horse_font_size">--</span></p></div></div></center>