AISLINN
SHE TASTES LIKE MOONBEAMS AND LAVENDER
Her wariness grew with each drop of cold rain that dripped onto her ebony body; each autumn tear sending another bolt of caution through her muscles and deep into her bones. She rose her chin, as she down her delicate nose at the painted man. He could not be more than a few inches taller than she; his body toned and muscular. A warrior, perhaps, a defender. A man who's blood thirsted for bruises and torn knuckles just as her own craved the heat of battle. She searched and searched, her nostrils flaring even still, to find a source of a scent to know of whence he came. But she was left with nothing, her hands poor and empty. The musk of rain too heavy and the rot of dying leaves flooding her lungs and coating them in ash instead.
I seek medicine. My daughter is sick, she wont last the night without remedies from the south. Solterrans are not equipped for healing... or anything other than blasted fighting for that matter!
His pleas were heard on distrustful ears. If she had been a weaker-willed woman, Aislinn might have relented then and there. Her breath came in sharp inhales and exhales as she contemplated the words that played at her lips. Tilting her crown, the stormsinger cracked her neck, her gaze of fiery blue flames honing. Narrowing on the stranger who pledged his intentions. If she let him go freely through her homeland, and his pleas rang true, she would have inadvertently aided in saving his child's life. But if he had lied.. her undoing would be lending a foreign man free reign to roam into her home, and the kingdom she was sworn to protect with an iron fist. With careful hands she weighed his words, and the ocean of his orbs for glimmers of truth, of honesty.
The Children of the Night were not known for their trustful nature. Oh no.. they were passion and revelry and violence cocooned in their goddess' shadows and stars.
Please, I must get to the capitol at once.
She nearly breathed the words that toyed at the edge of her soft lips, when her gaze broadened, suffocated by the overo stallion. The Champion noted how he had unfurled his wings, his hooves poised to lift off. Flighty, isn't he? Aislinn pursed her lips, meeting his stare with orbs of blue daggers. Sharp and unrelenting, missing nothing. "Night is known for many things, but our healers are not one of them," she started, her voice unwavering, "so forgive me if I don't quite believe your claims."
With a steady hoof, she stepped forward, her wings tucked close to her side as her muscles tightened underneath her skin. There was something mildly off-putting about the man; his gaze, his stature, the lack of scent to where he called home. A shiver ran down the length of her spine, but she dismissed it, instead narrowing her stare as she looked at him through thick lashes. "Why come to Denocte if you seek medicine and potentially the continent's best healers? Surely Dusk could have served you better."
@maxence -screams internally- please don't mind this post as I'm on night shift & sleep deprived D:
SHE TASTES LIKE MOONBEAMS AND LAVENDER
Her wariness grew with each drop of cold rain that dripped onto her ebony body; each autumn tear sending another bolt of caution through her muscles and deep into her bones. She rose her chin, as she down her delicate nose at the painted man. He could not be more than a few inches taller than she; his body toned and muscular. A warrior, perhaps, a defender. A man who's blood thirsted for bruises and torn knuckles just as her own craved the heat of battle. She searched and searched, her nostrils flaring even still, to find a source of a scent to know of whence he came. But she was left with nothing, her hands poor and empty. The musk of rain too heavy and the rot of dying leaves flooding her lungs and coating them in ash instead.
I seek medicine. My daughter is sick, she wont last the night without remedies from the south. Solterrans are not equipped for healing... or anything other than blasted fighting for that matter!
His pleas were heard on distrustful ears. If she had been a weaker-willed woman, Aislinn might have relented then and there. Her breath came in sharp inhales and exhales as she contemplated the words that played at her lips. Tilting her crown, the stormsinger cracked her neck, her gaze of fiery blue flames honing. Narrowing on the stranger who pledged his intentions. If she let him go freely through her homeland, and his pleas rang true, she would have inadvertently aided in saving his child's life. But if he had lied.. her undoing would be lending a foreign man free reign to roam into her home, and the kingdom she was sworn to protect with an iron fist. With careful hands she weighed his words, and the ocean of his orbs for glimmers of truth, of honesty.
The Children of the Night were not known for their trustful nature. Oh no.. they were passion and revelry and violence cocooned in their goddess' shadows and stars.
Please, I must get to the capitol at once.
She nearly breathed the words that toyed at the edge of her soft lips, when her gaze broadened, suffocated by the overo stallion. The Champion noted how he had unfurled his wings, his hooves poised to lift off. Flighty, isn't he? Aislinn pursed her lips, meeting his stare with orbs of blue daggers. Sharp and unrelenting, missing nothing. "Night is known for many things, but our healers are not one of them," she started, her voice unwavering, "so forgive me if I don't quite believe your claims."
With a steady hoof, she stepped forward, her wings tucked close to her side as her muscles tightened underneath her skin. There was something mildly off-putting about the man; his gaze, his stature, the lack of scent to where he called home. A shiver ran down the length of her spine, but she dismissed it, instead narrowing her stare as she looked at him through thick lashes. "Why come to Denocte if you seek medicine and potentially the continent's best healers? Surely Dusk could have served you better."
@maxence -screams internally- please don't mind this post as I'm on night shift & sleep deprived D:
