11-27-2020, 11:55 AM
With the fading of winter and the return of warmth to the common lands, Quell has spent less and less time in Sylva. He still visits often, catching up and roughhousing with Larrikin and Herrin, but he has come to consider the Field and Meadow more of a home than the ever-red woods. The transience of the places are a comfort to him, and he is fond of the little waterfalls that reminds him of Ischia.
He stands deep in that water now, feeling its wash away the dust that has gathered on the thick scales that protect his legs, underbelly, and the lower part of his neck. With it gone, his gold and white markings are more visible, matching those on his leathery dragon wings, which are spread out just above the surface of the water. He gathers the most warmth he can on his day, and then ducks below the water for a brief second, and clamors out. The chill of it has shaken off the last weariness left by his noon-time nap, leaving him bright-eyed and alert as he looks over the meadow.
A black mare has arrived in the time he spent bathing, her face brilliantly gold in the sun. Like many dragonborn, Quell is inexorably fond of gold, and he finds himself moving toward her without really deciding to. He shakes some of the water from his mane as he does, allowing it to fall across the pale tobiano shoulder mantle that he’d been given by his parents. Though he has always favored his mother in appearance, there is a razor-sharp curiosity in his gold-and-silver gaze, one that often borders on manic if he forgets to disguise it.
He does not forget to disguise it today, and instead offers her an easy smile.
“I’m Quell,” he says, pausing a comfortable distance away. “What brings you to the Meadow today?”
@[Wishbone]
He stands deep in that water now, feeling its wash away the dust that has gathered on the thick scales that protect his legs, underbelly, and the lower part of his neck. With it gone, his gold and white markings are more visible, matching those on his leathery dragon wings, which are spread out just above the surface of the water. He gathers the most warmth he can on his day, and then ducks below the water for a brief second, and clamors out. The chill of it has shaken off the last weariness left by his noon-time nap, leaving him bright-eyed and alert as he looks over the meadow.
A black mare has arrived in the time he spent bathing, her face brilliantly gold in the sun. Like many dragonborn, Quell is inexorably fond of gold, and he finds himself moving toward her without really deciding to. He shakes some of the water from his mane as he does, allowing it to fall across the pale tobiano shoulder mantle that he’d been given by his parents. Though he has always favored his mother in appearance, there is a razor-sharp curiosity in his gold-and-silver gaze, one that often borders on manic if he forgets to disguise it.
He does not forget to disguise it today, and instead offers her an easy smile.
“I’m Quell,” he says, pausing a comfortable distance away. “What brings you to the Meadow today?”
@[Wishbone]