06-14-2021, 08:58 PM
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Before he called Taiga home, before he felt the most like himself with Cheri, Targaryen had called the common-lands home. He’d grown up in the hidden corners of the Forest, among the slender grass of the Meadow, and bathing in the crisp water of the River. There were no siblings to play with, so unlike the loud multitude of siblings Cheri has, and even friends were a rarity. Noori had done her part to be something of a mother, keeping him alive and feeding him until he could nibble on grass. And when she knew he could tolerate the blades, she’d claimed a grove in the woods and rooted herself there.
He’s spent many days and nights in the thickness of the Forest, both as a child and as a man. He’s curled his small body at the base of his mother’s tree trunk-limbs, and he’s watched her unmoving shape from a distance as a grown stallion peering through the shadows. Despite the hours he’s spent in the woods, he’s never seen the wisps of light before. Targaryen has encountered his fair share of beasts and monsters alike, but these floating, dancing creatures are different than anything he’s seen before.
He’s entranced by them, and his eyes follow the paths they create in the darkness. His curiosity distracts him from the bitter cold seizing his body, yet his wings instinctively pull closer to his sides. An orb breaks away from the rest and finds a safe place on the stranger’s shoulder. Targaryen thinks about the stallion’s answer (“Spirits of a sort”) and the way he doesn’t shy away from the orb, but neither does he fully acknowledge its presence. Almost like they are old friends, longtime companions — and the tobiano thinks the stallion knows more than what he’s letting on.
But what the stranger does and doesn’t want to share isn’t a concern to Targaryen. He must’ve disturbed the stallion’s evening, the tobiano assumes, judging by the rather deadpanned look he’s receiving. The red eyes are eerie, and the expression in their depths seems to hint at the idea of superiority. Targaryen shifts his weight, trying to ignore the ways he feels he needs to defend himself, even when there’s nothing to defend.
In fact, the stranger’s question seems like an appropriate lead-in to the mystery that Targaryen’s been experiencing lately. If the black stallion knows even a little about the spirits, maybe he can help him figure out what’s going on with him. “I’ve been waking up in random places lately,” he says with as much confidence as he can muster. It’s only once the sentence is out that he realizes bringing up his problem that needs fixing seems to make him look even more like a failure. “I’ve lost track of time, and my recent memories are all mixed up. I left Loess one day, and I can tell time has passed since I left, but it feels like it happened yesterday.” He wishes Cheri were with him, could comfort him and watch him and explain what’s wrong. Instead, he has to turn his cinnamon eyes to the stranger and hope for the best. “I’m all mixed up. Have you heard of this happening before?”
He’s spent many days and nights in the thickness of the Forest, both as a child and as a man. He’s curled his small body at the base of his mother’s tree trunk-limbs, and he’s watched her unmoving shape from a distance as a grown stallion peering through the shadows. Despite the hours he’s spent in the woods, he’s never seen the wisps of light before. Targaryen has encountered his fair share of beasts and monsters alike, but these floating, dancing creatures are different than anything he’s seen before.
He’s entranced by them, and his eyes follow the paths they create in the darkness. His curiosity distracts him from the bitter cold seizing his body, yet his wings instinctively pull closer to his sides. An orb breaks away from the rest and finds a safe place on the stranger’s shoulder. Targaryen thinks about the stallion’s answer (“Spirits of a sort”) and the way he doesn’t shy away from the orb, but neither does he fully acknowledge its presence. Almost like they are old friends, longtime companions — and the tobiano thinks the stallion knows more than what he’s letting on.
But what the stranger does and doesn’t want to share isn’t a concern to Targaryen. He must’ve disturbed the stallion’s evening, the tobiano assumes, judging by the rather deadpanned look he’s receiving. The red eyes are eerie, and the expression in their depths seems to hint at the idea of superiority. Targaryen shifts his weight, trying to ignore the ways he feels he needs to defend himself, even when there’s nothing to defend.
In fact, the stranger’s question seems like an appropriate lead-in to the mystery that Targaryen’s been experiencing lately. If the black stallion knows even a little about the spirits, maybe he can help him figure out what’s going on with him. “I’ve been waking up in random places lately,” he says with as much confidence as he can muster. It’s only once the sentence is out that he realizes bringing up his problem that needs fixing seems to make him look even more like a failure. “I’ve lost track of time, and my recent memories are all mixed up. I left Loess one day, and I can tell time has passed since I left, but it feels like it happened yesterday.” He wishes Cheri were with him, could comfort him and watch him and explain what’s wrong. Instead, he has to turn his cinnamon eyes to the stranger and hope for the best. “I’m all mixed up. Have you heard of this happening before?”
@[Obscene]