09-27-2020, 11:46 AM
Herrin rolls onto his back and stretches slowly, his clawed feet batting at the midmorning light. His movements disturb the black colt sleeping beside him, who rolls to his feet to shake leaf-litter from his dragon wings and matte black scaled hide.
“You were supposed to wake me up!” shouts Quell from between his seal-sharp teeth. “Now we’re gonna be late!”
The younger boy bares his flat teeth at his elder brother and rises and does quick roll of his shoulders and shakes out then refolds the bat-like wings. Quell looks down in time to see the wings fade entirely into Herrin’s sides, and gets only a moment of the queasy sensation of watching some else’s shift. Now Herrin is nothing but a brightly colored buckskin, with shiny bits of gold decorating the edges of his tobiano white. Quell is unable to hide as much of his magics, but he does run his tongue along teeth that now grow dull and horselike. In sleep, he takes the shape most natural, but the world in which they live is more at ease with things that look harmless.
They make their way from their home in Sylva’s northernmost woods, toward the common lands. More specifically toward the place in the Meadow meets the Forest and the biggest strawberries ever grow. The boys have been watching them all spring, sneaking away from the watchful eyes of their elders. It has been a great adventure (save for the few days where fires burned in Loess and restricted their ability to check on the fruits.
When the pair reach the southeastern edge of the Sylvan territory, it becomes apparent what they were late for. Pacing back and forth in a worn furrow is a neon green colt with a lilac halo. He is scowling, and his not-blue eyes are irritated.
“You missed it! I had the timing perfect with the sunrise and the explosion and ughhhh.” Neon green becomes bright orange, and Quell swoops in to assuage their friend with apologies about missing the performance. Herrin rolls his eyes (out of sight of the dramatic Larrikin), and looks around. It doesn’t look like anyone else had shown up for Larry’s performance either, so the cheetah resigns himself to staying, and does his best to prod Larrikin into a good mood until the older boy has to leave for some sort of family assembly in the later afternoon.
’What’y’wanna do now?’ is the last thing Larrikin hears from Herrin, the question as quiet in his mind as it is loud in Quell’s ears.
“You were supposed to wake me up!” shouts Quell from between his seal-sharp teeth. “Now we’re gonna be late!”
The younger boy bares his flat teeth at his elder brother and rises and does quick roll of his shoulders and shakes out then refolds the bat-like wings. Quell looks down in time to see the wings fade entirely into Herrin’s sides, and gets only a moment of the queasy sensation of watching some else’s shift. Now Herrin is nothing but a brightly colored buckskin, with shiny bits of gold decorating the edges of his tobiano white. Quell is unable to hide as much of his magics, but he does run his tongue along teeth that now grow dull and horselike. In sleep, he takes the shape most natural, but the world in which they live is more at ease with things that look harmless.
They make their way from their home in Sylva’s northernmost woods, toward the common lands. More specifically toward the place in the Meadow meets the Forest and the biggest strawberries ever grow. The boys have been watching them all spring, sneaking away from the watchful eyes of their elders. It has been a great adventure (save for the few days where fires burned in Loess and restricted their ability to check on the fruits.
When the pair reach the southeastern edge of the Sylvan territory, it becomes apparent what they were late for. Pacing back and forth in a worn furrow is a neon green colt with a lilac halo. He is scowling, and his not-blue eyes are irritated.
“You missed it! I had the timing perfect with the sunrise and the explosion and ughhhh.” Neon green becomes bright orange, and Quell swoops in to assuage their friend with apologies about missing the performance. Herrin rolls his eyes (out of sight of the dramatic Larrikin), and looks around. It doesn’t look like anyone else had shown up for Larry’s performance either, so the cheetah resigns himself to staying, and does his best to prod Larrikin into a good mood until the older boy has to leave for some sort of family assembly in the later afternoon.
’What’y’wanna do now?’ is the last thing Larrikin hears from Herrin, the question as quiet in his mind as it is loud in Quell’s ears.