Wolves that eddy out the corner of his eyes || Nashua

[Nashua]

stars when you shine, you know how i feel
oh freedom is mine

Nashua is an artful flyer for his age (though that might have more to do with his easy-going nature; far easier to move with the wind than against it). Despite some of the doubt that he harbors within, he projects the image of a strong, confident pegasus that cuts through the air with ease. Each wingstroke carries him with a sense of purpose and it calls him back to where Nashua has laid his fealty, with the Isle and to Leilan.

The flight north isn't easy. It rarely is, with the way that the wind suddenly whips one way and then another. Storms seem quicker to anger on this edge of Beqanna and those that take claim of the skies need to be aware of it. Perhaps it why so few are seldom seen flying on this part of the map. But above gleams Nashua - glinting gold and copper - beneath a winter sun and standing out against a blue sky and building clouds, taking command of it like he's always been destined to fly these great heights.

He is at much home here in the heavens as he has been in misty, tree-chapel Taiga. As he passes over the Redwoods, it catches his attention, and he looks below to see the Pines and Sequoias christened with new-fallen snow. It sparkles invitingly and the young pegasus almost considers landing for a visit with his mother and Yanhua, to share his latest adventure. The way that the treetops glimmer turn his thoughts his another way and as he continues towards the cliffs of Nerine, he finds himself thinking of the girl that he had last encountered there. The thought glitters in his dark green eyes and Nashua wonders if Noel might still be in Nerine. (Probably not, he thinks. But the chance of encountering her again is enough to make him land not far from the cliffs that had tested their wings and growing aerial abilities.)

Swooping easily down, Nashua flares his brown wings and skids forward on a patch of ice. With the wind at his back, he closesthem to help slow his slide. He isn't alone on these clifftops and when the chestnut pegasus finally does stop, he watches as another gleams in the winter sun like he and Yanhua. The iridescence of his dapples catches the sun and it makes Nash all the more conscious of his stripes, something that only happens when he enters the North. (For as much as he loves his home, there is a part of him that hasn't found a way to quiet the troubles that linger in the back of his mind. He is the son of the Taiga Guardian, an aspiring member of the Freyr's court and yet he is also the son of the Monster. It's a triad that tangles deep in his soul.)

There's a twinge of guilt because he has never formally met this boy - his half-brother. The few times he has asked after Wherewolf has been met with a scowl from his 'aunt' Neverwhere or worse, Lilliana's face closing up in a way completely different from when he has mentioned Celina or Elio or Gale. The wind whips forward again and as the striped stallion moves towards the dappled colt, he watches in wonder as the boy spreads his dark wings. Nash moves into a trot and for a magnificent moment, the younger pegasus catches the breeze from the sea and flies. (Nash didn't doubt that he could but there is still a sense of pride that he feels. Wherewolf is finding the sky as he should.)

But ah, as Nash knows (as he has been taught from Celina and Popinjay), the wind is a fickle thing. It changes direction like the sky trades weather; always. The copper stallion jumps into a canter and catches a wayward breeze with his proud wings. He keeps them spread for a moment, and then like he had practiced with Noel, tilts his weight forward. The descent starts to come faster, quicker than it should and there is none of Nash's earlier grace when he lands with the seaspray and snowflakes biting his slender face. Shifting his weight back to his haunches, the pegasus splashes against the shallows of the surf, and the hoofprints left behind him tell the story of the struggle it took him to stop and find his hooves as he had pulled up his wings.

@[Wherewolf] is a muddled mess of golds and browns heaped on the icy ground. His noble wings splayed in a way that they should never be. When Nash finally stops in front of him (and briefly assured that the colt wasn't dead), his voice echoes against the quiet as the snow falls. "Get up."

NASHUA

html by castlegraphics; art by MirrorLands

Nash loves Frank.