09-01-2021, 09:34 AM
sickle
Sickle is often not herself when she wanders the Pampas, though she knows her colouring gives her away anyway when she does not care to change it. Today she is an iridescent blue panther, prowling along with her companion flying just off her shoulder. She likes this shape here - it is fierce but she’s also low enough that sometimes the wildflowers tickle her chin as she moves amongst them and she knows if she crouches down, she could disappear entirely.
Which is what she feels like is happening anyway. Maybe this is why Malik never came back - he is trapped in Hyaline, slowly disappearing too.
Her dark eyes scan the area, hoping like she always does to see a purple figure hurrying towards her. Instead, her attention catches on a patch of black earth nestled among the autumn wildflowers. The contrast between this darker area and the rest of the Pampas draws Sickle in, her curiosity easily overriding the churning emotions inside of her. She tilts her head as she approaches, realizing that this place had appeared darker because it had been burned.
A colt stands there and it is not difficult for Sickle to mistake his solemn expression as the same confusion that is seeping through her, the same sense of loss. Because even though she does not want to be here, she cannot deny that this place is beautiful. And she keeps reminding herself to take some of these flowers with her when she leaves so she can show Asterope.
Sickle remains as a panther when she stops right at the edge of where living plants meet desolation, her gaze sweeping the charred remains. As usual, the only words she can find are a question. “What happened?”
Which is what she feels like is happening anyway. Maybe this is why Malik never came back - he is trapped in Hyaline, slowly disappearing too.
Her dark eyes scan the area, hoping like she always does to see a purple figure hurrying towards her. Instead, her attention catches on a patch of black earth nestled among the autumn wildflowers. The contrast between this darker area and the rest of the Pampas draws Sickle in, her curiosity easily overriding the churning emotions inside of her. She tilts her head as she approaches, realizing that this place had appeared darker because it had been burned.
A colt stands there and it is not difficult for Sickle to mistake his solemn expression as the same confusion that is seeping through her, the same sense of loss. Because even though she does not want to be here, she cannot deny that this place is beautiful. And she keeps reminding herself to take some of these flowers with her when she leaves so she can show Asterope.
Sickle remains as a panther when she stops right at the edge of where living plants meet desolation, her gaze sweeping the charred remains. As usual, the only words she can find are a question. “What happened?”
@Fyr