05-07-2021, 09:15 PM
. |
. |
. |
Targaryen had hoped the flight would unravel the knot of emotions from his stomach. Instead, it heightens them. He uses their conversation (though it is more of an argument) as a buffer to control his mouth from spurting out something that would change the mood of their day. In between his sentences and during the chatter of her replies, Targaryen cannot stop his eyes from studying his friend. He hadn’t thought she could get more beautiful, yet their closeness to the sun seems to draw her even closer to perfection.
Her jewels seem to capture the sun’s rays so they glitter above her electric green eyes. The slender curves of her face, neck, and chest are edged by pale gold from the late-morning light, yet the dip of her flank and the lithe muscle are accentuated by the shadows the sun creates. Cheri’s wings look as if the sun has placed itself tenderly along her sides and willingly flung itself into the air to bring her body closer to the sky. Each detail of her feminine face, each curve of her maturing body, the shimmer of the sun on her dark skin — they draw him in until the rest of the world feels blurred and distant.
Perhaps if he knows what love looks like (if he had seen the way romantics draw each other close and spread kisses along their heated skin), Targaryen might fall into a similar fantasy world as Cheri.
Cheri’s laugh dazzles the stallion, and he feels like lightning has struck him from above. With heat blossoming from his core, Targaryen is grateful for the cold sweeping over them as they approach Icicle Isle. He dips lower into a bitter wind current as they begin their descent, grateful for the chill that cools his skin. But by the time the pair land on the ice, the tobiano is also freezing. He pulls his wings tight and begins to feel the warmth as his feathers insulate his sides.
Targaryen’s multicolored feathers don’t protect his face and legs though, so his answer to Cheri’s question comes through mildly numb lips. “You’d think the thun would warm thith plath too.” The stallion’s ears moved into the tendrils of his mane in his embarrassment at the strange sentence, but there was no preventing the effects of the bitter wind on his face. As his soft brown eyes follow Cheri’s toward the maze, he wiggled his facial muscles to encourage warmth.
“Maybe the ice will keep us out of the wind.” He truly had to work for those words, but Targaryen is satisfied he got them out. As his gaze moves back toward his friend, he can’t help but notice that she looks just as lovely among the ice and snow as she does in the sky. In fact, she looks like a walking piece of Mother Earth, crafted from black sand and pale gems and emerald grass.
His heart both sighs and screams.
So the tobiano moves toward the ice-maze before he can act on it.
Her jewels seem to capture the sun’s rays so they glitter above her electric green eyes. The slender curves of her face, neck, and chest are edged by pale gold from the late-morning light, yet the dip of her flank and the lithe muscle are accentuated by the shadows the sun creates. Cheri’s wings look as if the sun has placed itself tenderly along her sides and willingly flung itself into the air to bring her body closer to the sky. Each detail of her feminine face, each curve of her maturing body, the shimmer of the sun on her dark skin — they draw him in until the rest of the world feels blurred and distant.
Perhaps if he knows what love looks like (if he had seen the way romantics draw each other close and spread kisses along their heated skin), Targaryen might fall into a similar fantasy world as Cheri.
Cheri’s laugh dazzles the stallion, and he feels like lightning has struck him from above. With heat blossoming from his core, Targaryen is grateful for the cold sweeping over them as they approach Icicle Isle. He dips lower into a bitter wind current as they begin their descent, grateful for the chill that cools his skin. But by the time the pair land on the ice, the tobiano is also freezing. He pulls his wings tight and begins to feel the warmth as his feathers insulate his sides.
Targaryen’s multicolored feathers don’t protect his face and legs though, so his answer to Cheri’s question comes through mildly numb lips. “You’d think the thun would warm thith plath too.” The stallion’s ears moved into the tendrils of his mane in his embarrassment at the strange sentence, but there was no preventing the effects of the bitter wind on his face. As his soft brown eyes follow Cheri’s toward the maze, he wiggled his facial muscles to encourage warmth.
“Maybe the ice will keep us out of the wind.” He truly had to work for those words, but Targaryen is satisfied he got them out. As his gaze moves back toward his friend, he can’t help but notice that she looks just as lovely among the ice and snow as she does in the sky. In fact, she looks like a walking piece of Mother Earth, crafted from black sand and pale gems and emerald grass.
His heart both sighs and screams.
So the tobiano moves toward the ice-maze before he can act on it.
@[Cheri]