She relaxes into him, and the tight twisting of anxiety the sight of her tumbling body had ignited begins to fade. She nestles into him as if they had known each other for a lifetime, and he feels as if he had never had a more important duty to perform. He wants to live up to the faith she so blindly places in his protection, and he holds his wings a little higher and tighter to his topline. The wind that had tangled his mane falls flat as he creates a barrier of wind to push against it, redirecting the currents of air. As far as he can see, the grasses tumble in waves, and the trees bend and sigh in the distance, but at his hooves, all is still. Another glance over his shoulder lets him know that she is sleeping, or deep in rest at least, and he lets his mismatched eyes linger on the impossibly delicate beak, tiny eyes pressed closed.
After a moment, he does what he said he would and begins to graze. His steps, when necessary, are gentle and soft, and the wind never ruffles any of their feathers.
Time passes, enough that his thoughts begin to wander and the hum of a simple tune rumbles deep in his throat. It was something he had only caught himself doing in this last year, something that happen spontaneously in the quiet happy moments when the shadows of his former life seemed farther away than they ever had before.
A light tickle along his withers brings him back to the present, and a bright chirp puts a smile on his uneven lips. He is delighted as he feels the sparrow's little toes dig into his mane, and she follows its trail with lively hops to the place between his ears. His wings stretch wide as he flexes the cramping muscles of his chest and back, but he doesn't dare to move his head and disrupt her balance. "Goodmorning, friend," he chuffs happily, even though the afternoon sun is low, and the golden hour paints the meadow in soul-warming light.
The soft voice that pipes up between his ears is startling, but somehow he stays in control of his reaction. He manages not to toss his head; a snort is the only thing that betrays his surprise. He had seen little of the magic-drenched world they lived in and even less of the haunts who wielded its power. The few times he had brushed his nose across magic it had been of the darker kind, pulling him towards it in a way that he wished he had shied from. But he knew nothing of the innocent little pieces of beautiful magic that made sparrows speak and sunlight heal wounds.
It takes an embarrassingly long moment for the stallion to find his voice again, but when he does, it is as kind and genuine as it had been before, although he has very little helpful information.
"Well, I can't say I know for sure," he begins, trying to piece together the rough mental map of places he had never been before. His grandam had taken the time to explain to him the way the world fitted together, but that seemed so long ago now. "I would think somewhere in the west, but I've never been there, so I couldn't say for sure. It doesn't get very cold here on the pampas, although we sometimes get a little snow... but it never gets bitter cold like it did in the common lands." He shuts his mouth with intention after his last sentence, realizing his answer was rambling on. He thought these were the sorts of things little sparrows and ravens were just born knowing, something that their ancestors passed on in their internal code, or whispered in the wind when they learned to fly. Concern furrows his brow, as he thinks of her light-boned body fighting winter storm, and his head shifts ever so slightly to look in the direction he thought the tropical lands lay.
clegane
@[splendora]
