07-18-2021, 12:33 PM
She was not quite what you would call refined
He calls himself Gale and the name makes the Bird's head tilt curiously. It is familiar, but only vaguely, and it does not occur to her that this is the blue brindled stallion that came to Nerine during the Eclipse. Remembering names has never been a hobby of hers and she keeps a paltry collection compared to most. Like so many others, Gale asks for her name, and irritation sparks across her feathers. The trill in her throat turns sharp and guttural, losing the faint musicality of before, and those angry feathers melt away. Reluctanly, the Lightningbird becomes equine once again, though there is nothing of that sullenness in her bright expression when the little mare peers at him through the dark curls of her forelock.
"Poppy!" she announces gaily, and then, as if to explain her transformation back, "It's hard to say without lips."
The Bird is there still, though, in her heart, in her mind, and she imagines that it is standing behind her with feathers slicked down except for the ones at its crest and the nape of its neck which stand up instead, irritated and impatient. It is so different from the little bay with mischievous laughter ever-threatening in her throat and her eyes and the shock of white splashed across her brow, with the soft curl of madness - just a touch - in her grin, like a gold vein cutting through quartz, like lightning breaking open the sky. Without losing the smile, she turns to look away from him.
"This is getting boring, now."
The muscles of her haunches bunch when she leaps, releasing the Lightningbird again in a chaotic, roaring, rush of feathers and electricity and wind. Each wingbeat sends thunder pealing across the lake and down the mountainsides until she's high enough to soar and set charges in the clouds.
She had promised they would hunt, after all.
"Poppy!" she announces gaily, and then, as if to explain her transformation back, "It's hard to say without lips."
The Bird is there still, though, in her heart, in her mind, and she imagines that it is standing behind her with feathers slicked down except for the ones at its crest and the nape of its neck which stand up instead, irritated and impatient. It is so different from the little bay with mischievous laughter ever-threatening in her throat and her eyes and the shock of white splashed across her brow, with the soft curl of madness - just a touch - in her grin, like a gold vein cutting through quartz, like lightning breaking open the sky. Without losing the smile, she turns to look away from him.
"This is getting boring, now."
The muscles of her haunches bunch when she leaps, releasing the Lightningbird again in a chaotic, roaring, rush of feathers and electricity and wind. Each wingbeat sends thunder pealing across the lake and down the mountainsides until she's high enough to soar and set charges in the clouds.
She had promised they would hunt, after all.
@Gale have a closer
