08-30-2021, 10:08 PM
Parish’s father always looked at her with some strange, proud gleam in his eye. He wasn’t particularly affectionate, but he watched the twins as their personalities and powers grew and felt an almost fatherly pleasure bloom in his chest. He would never feel quite like a father to them (those few emotions are reserved for his family back in Pangea, though Parish didn’t know that, not now).
Pride isn’t something the feathered filly has learned to recognize—not yet—so when the demon’s eyes shine, she only feels a strange spur of magic and continues with her little tricks. As a babe, she conjured tiny rainstorms, throwing cloud after tiny, gray cloud over her brother until his feathers flared in extreme irritation and he bared his baby canines. She knows no other consequence than the annoying bite of his small teeth, so she has always continued her capricious practice of magic, giggling when Raum nipped angrily at her ankles and hide.
It has always been this way: comfortably annoying in Hyaline, waiting patiently for Draco’s sudden arrival or another creative way to annoy her mother.
As life shrank smaller, as Draco grew busier and more powerful and her mother more attuned to her tricks, Parish became bored; and that is what she is as she stands on the windy, winter-creeping border of Hyaline. She casts a long face behind her, awkward and gangly in the way yearlings are, but hardly feels any apprehension. Parish sets her mouth grimly instead, wondering if the magic she has practiced will hold well outside of these borders.
So, she decides to test such magic, light trailing her faintly through the days it takes to arrive in the Pampas.
There was hardly any talk of borders or politics among her family, so when she smells the air change, she barely gives it notice. Parish is more focused on the coalescing winter colors of the Brilliant Pampas autumn wildflowers. A curious hum (one so like her fathers) fills her ears as she calls a cloud down to water the flowers; but with her growing age comes growing power, and the young palomino accidentally summons a storm cloud at least a mile wide. She looks up, bright eyes blinking as the weight of her magic makes her hide shiver with exertion.
“Wow,” Parish murmurs, eyes closing as a single raindrop splats violently against her muzzle.
@“sickle”
Pride isn’t something the feathered filly has learned to recognize—not yet—so when the demon’s eyes shine, she only feels a strange spur of magic and continues with her little tricks. As a babe, she conjured tiny rainstorms, throwing cloud after tiny, gray cloud over her brother until his feathers flared in extreme irritation and he bared his baby canines. She knows no other consequence than the annoying bite of his small teeth, so she has always continued her capricious practice of magic, giggling when Raum nipped angrily at her ankles and hide.
It has always been this way: comfortably annoying in Hyaline, waiting patiently for Draco’s sudden arrival or another creative way to annoy her mother.
As life shrank smaller, as Draco grew busier and more powerful and her mother more attuned to her tricks, Parish became bored; and that is what she is as she stands on the windy, winter-creeping border of Hyaline. She casts a long face behind her, awkward and gangly in the way yearlings are, but hardly feels any apprehension. Parish sets her mouth grimly instead, wondering if the magic she has practiced will hold well outside of these borders.
So, she decides to test such magic, light trailing her faintly through the days it takes to arrive in the Pampas.
There was hardly any talk of borders or politics among her family, so when she smells the air change, she barely gives it notice. Parish is more focused on the coalescing winter colors of the Brilliant Pampas autumn wildflowers. A curious hum (one so like her fathers) fills her ears as she calls a cloud down to water the flowers; but with her growing age comes growing power, and the young palomino accidentally summons a storm cloud at least a mile wide. She looks up, bright eyes blinking as the weight of her magic makes her hide shiver with exertion.
“Wow,” Parish murmurs, eyes closing as a single raindrop splats violently against her muzzle.
@“sickle”