i can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland --
When she first notices the flames that scintillate along his spine her instinct is to recoil. Fire meant danger; she has seen what a spark gone rogue can do, the way a wildfire can eat up a forest in what felt like a single breath. It was destructive and ruthless—it showed no mercy for anything that stood in its path.
She has never seen anyone that could harness fire themselves. There is magic where she comes from, that much is true. But it is a limited kind; flight and healing, shimmering light trails and other things that might inspire wonder, but not fear. Her time here has been short, but she is learning quickly that Beqanna is not the same. The magic here stretches further, and she stands there staring at the fire-laced stallion before her, she realizes that it goes further than she had initially thought.
The thought of leaving crosses her mind, but she does not.
Her sheer wings shift uneasily, causing light once again to shimmer along the edges of them, as if she is debating flying away—the way a deer would fly from a wolf if it could.
But he smiles, and she finds her suspicion and fear growing into more of a curiosity. She does not move closer to him, and does not quite relax, but her lavender eyes begin to focus more on his face rather than his flames, and then on the bright yellow eye that reveals itself from the tossed aside forelock. “No,” she responds cautiously, willing the stammer of nerves that is trying to override her steady tone to stay away. “I was just looking,” this is spoken with a bit more conviction, since it was true—she had been looking, and hadn’t really planned on going.
Her delicate head angles away from him, sweeping her gaze across the barren desert landscape—a sea of scorched red dirt that seems to stretch on for miles. “What is that place?”
When she first notices the flames that scintillate along his spine her instinct is to recoil. Fire meant danger; she has seen what a spark gone rogue can do, the way a wildfire can eat up a forest in what felt like a single breath. It was destructive and ruthless—it showed no mercy for anything that stood in its path.
She has never seen anyone that could harness fire themselves. There is magic where she comes from, that much is true. But it is a limited kind; flight and healing, shimmering light trails and other things that might inspire wonder, but not fear. Her time here has been short, but she is learning quickly that Beqanna is not the same. The magic here stretches further, and she stands there staring at the fire-laced stallion before her, she realizes that it goes further than she had initially thought.
The thought of leaving crosses her mind, but she does not.
Her sheer wings shift uneasily, causing light once again to shimmer along the edges of them, as if she is debating flying away—the way a deer would fly from a wolf if it could.
But he smiles, and she finds her suspicion and fear growing into more of a curiosity. She does not move closer to him, and does not quite relax, but her lavender eyes begin to focus more on his face rather than his flames, and then on the bright yellow eye that reveals itself from the tossed aside forelock. “No,” she responds cautiously, willing the stammer of nerves that is trying to override her steady tone to stay away. “I was just looking,” this is spoken with a bit more conviction, since it was true—she had been looking, and hadn’t really planned on going.
Her delicate head angles away from him, sweeping her gaze across the barren desert landscape—a sea of scorched red dirt that seems to stretch on for miles. “What is that place?”
-- my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i’m covered in you
allaire.
@Fyr