Ruhr
She focuses so intently on his wings that he wonders if she might have Baltian in her blood. The myths of his people tell of the obsession of the sea monsters with the flight of the Stratosians. There is no sign of marine attributes on the spotted mare though; she looks more similar to the land-dwelling natives of this place called Beqanna than to those of Ruhr’s homeland.
Similar, but much smaller. He realizes this more as she draws nearer, still appearing somewhat cautious as she eyes him from below the veil of her mane.
“The Moon does everything for a reason,” he replies, the familiar adage of his people falling easily from his tongue. “Perhaps she has other gifts in store for you yet.” He hopes that is true for him, though he does not say so aloud. Perhaps in time she will return what she had taken from him.
Ruhr follows the slow approach of the little mare as she comes for a drink, taking the opportunity to look her over a bit more thoroughly while she is otherwise distracted. She’s a pretty thing, he decides, if a little small. His people are not as massive as the natives of this place, and Ruhr had once been considered especially tall, at least amongst those of Stratosian society.
Her name is Snowbell, she tells him, and this woodsy place where they’ve met is a land without concrete society. Not his sort of place then, Ruhr decides. If he settles down, it will need to be somewhere else, which is almost a shame.
The land is beautiful in the spring’s morning light, long beams of light filtering through brilliantly green leaves of the canopy overhead, few reaching the forest floor below. Yet even with the somewhat diminished light, the sunset dappled stallion can see that though the mare lacks feathers entirely (poor thing), and her eyes are a shade of green rather than a mirror of the sky overhead like his own, she is still pleasing to look at.
“Avoiding someone,” Ruhr answers, his smile widening at the compliment, and he gestures toward the sky with one feathered wing. The movement shows off the colorful pinions of his wings - shades of pale orange, pink, purple, and dusky blues.
Though she’s admitted to living the idle life of a vagabond, her wingless sides suggest she might know the terrestrial land better than Ruhr. The curious stallion hopes she might be able to help him out. “Though I’m looking for a place to settle down as well. Somewhere of my own, where uninvited relatives are less likely to fly by for a chat.”
Ruhr smiles again, amused at the idea of a border stopping his family, then turns his dawn-sky colored eyes to her green ones and asks: “Do you happen to know of any unclaimed clouds? Or meadows, I suppose; I might as well get used to living on the earth.”
@Snowbell @LittleSong
Similar, but much smaller. He realizes this more as she draws nearer, still appearing somewhat cautious as she eyes him from below the veil of her mane.
“The Moon does everything for a reason,” he replies, the familiar adage of his people falling easily from his tongue. “Perhaps she has other gifts in store for you yet.” He hopes that is true for him, though he does not say so aloud. Perhaps in time she will return what she had taken from him.
Ruhr follows the slow approach of the little mare as she comes for a drink, taking the opportunity to look her over a bit more thoroughly while she is otherwise distracted. She’s a pretty thing, he decides, if a little small. His people are not as massive as the natives of this place, and Ruhr had once been considered especially tall, at least amongst those of Stratosian society.
Her name is Snowbell, she tells him, and this woodsy place where they’ve met is a land without concrete society. Not his sort of place then, Ruhr decides. If he settles down, it will need to be somewhere else, which is almost a shame.
The land is beautiful in the spring’s morning light, long beams of light filtering through brilliantly green leaves of the canopy overhead, few reaching the forest floor below. Yet even with the somewhat diminished light, the sunset dappled stallion can see that though the mare lacks feathers entirely (poor thing), and her eyes are a shade of green rather than a mirror of the sky overhead like his own, she is still pleasing to look at.
“Avoiding someone,” Ruhr answers, his smile widening at the compliment, and he gestures toward the sky with one feathered wing. The movement shows off the colorful pinions of his wings - shades of pale orange, pink, purple, and dusky blues.
Though she’s admitted to living the idle life of a vagabond, her wingless sides suggest she might know the terrestrial land better than Ruhr. The curious stallion hopes she might be able to help him out. “Though I’m looking for a place to settle down as well. Somewhere of my own, where uninvited relatives are less likely to fly by for a chat.”
Ruhr smiles again, amused at the idea of a border stopping his family, then turns his dawn-sky colored eyes to her green ones and asks: “Do you happen to know of any unclaimed clouds? Or meadows, I suppose; I might as well get used to living on the earth.”
@Snowbell @LittleSong