"(souls are not meant to live more than once — death was not meant to be temporary, and she is so sure that every time her heart starts to beat again that irreversible damage is further inflicted)" -- Anonya, written by Colby
Olea’s getting older, and so, she should be getting…wiser, right? Any day now, she thinks to herself, scoffing with a grin. For most of her life she has been a nomad like her mother, drifting from one place to the next but never really staying or committing to much of anything. The only relationships she’s ever known are her sister and mother; never having a lover, never holding a rank or calling anywhere officially home – except for of course, Nerine’s stormy beaches when she was very young.
But it is all getting old – especially with her particular needs.
Delicious nectar is a necessity for her. She doesn’t need it to live, but to thrive. Without it her colors fade, her sensitivities dull and her general stamina is drained much quicker. Her body craves it, and at least 70% of her diet must be made up of the sugary goodness or it starts to show in her body. She’s built for warm jungles or luscious woodlands with big blooms and good climate. She’s been to mot corners of Beqanna, exploring here and there, and so she knows where the best blooms usually are. Occasionally she trespasses for good nectar, but lately she’s been able to trade some of her homemade silks for some bottled yumminess. This is getting so tiresome though, and she would give anything, at this point, to live in the same place as her food.
Brilliant Pampas. she heads west from the Meadow. She travels with a lacy colorless (white) silk veil draped over her. It lightly covers her face, shoulders and wings, letting her tail and rump show in the sunlight as she jogs along the road. She made it to keep herself from burning as she travels long distances. Her pale fur makes it easy for the sun to fade her wings and singe her delicate flesh. Her white-blond hair is twisted into a singular braid resting across one shoulder. Her tail is rather short, but thick, flowing ten or so inches above her hocks.
She arrives without incident, slipping across the border midday after traveling for a few days. She moved slow and steady, trying not to tire herself. Flying would have nearly drained her dead if she had tried. She flicks her head back to let her silken veil fall away and bunch across her withers. She stands quietly on a hill, looking around, and her eyes picking up every detail of her surroundings. She can smell the fall blooms on the breeze. But first she must say hello, and ask if she might be allowed to stay.
04-30-2020, 08:22 PM (This post was last modified: 04-30-2020, 08:23 PM by Noah.)
After the invasion of the giants, as Noah has begun to refer to it in her head, she’s a little on edge, patrolling her own borders for perhaps the first time since she came to live here, many years ago. Still, it’s like a cool relief when the next stranger she sets eyes upon is female, alone, and while taller than Noah much closer to the little roan’s size than any of their previous visitors. And she just looks….gentler, somehow, despite having six legs and looking a little alien.
“Hello,” she pitches her soft voice to carry, no matter the volume, and pairs it with a little smile as she shuffles her own dark wings into a more comfortable position and steps closer again, eyes still scanning the stranger’s unique form while she does. It feels familiar somehow, but she can’t place it at first. “I’m Noah. Welcome to the Brilliant Pampas.”
But – oh. A diurnal creature, she is much more familiar with the bright and beautiful butterflies her own daughter imitates frequently. But she has had more than a few sleepless nights laying quiet and watching her flowers, and she recognizes parts of the nocturnal pollinators in the mare standing before her, and she can’t image anything more peaceful than a moth.
that's all there is
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