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V A E L L A
When you can fly you see things others don’t. You laugh when others say they have seen things that you never would, because you know you have seen the most amazing things, things they don’t even see in their dreams. They couldn't even imagine what you have seen. But when you can fly faster than the speed of sound? You see and feel more than ordinary horses. Feeling the way the wind rushes over your coat, and the way that it makes your eyes water. It is the most amazing feeling. Vaella loved the sound of her wings as they slapped the air, or the way her legs would dangle below. She loved knowing that she could go anywhere, and that she could do it faster than anyone she knew. Her wings thumped steadily in the air as she made her way across the mountainous terrain. With a grin she eyes the land below her. She felt no need to fly as fast as she could today. She had nothing better to do at the moment. Her sharp eyes spot movement, her ears twitch at the slight movement and she wonders briefly if it was a wolf. Not that the young mare was completely worried, she was in the air after all. She wanted to walk the rest of the way, stretching her long legs would do her good. Vaella slaps her wings to her sides. Her body is pulled by a great force as she enters a steep drop to the ground. She looked like an arrow flying through the air. Just heartbeats before she smashes into the ground, her wings slide open, bringing her to an abrupt stop, just meters from the ground. She grimaces in pain at the pressure that had landed on her wings at the abrupt stop. Her wings were going to hurt tomorrow. Her hooves land gently on the ground. She folds her wings and tucks them against her body. She scans the land around her, her eyes searched for movement, but she found none. With a quick sniff of the air she took one last look at the tall green stems before turning and continuing her trek up the peak. "speaking colour" @Caine so sorry for the delay! |
 IF I CANNOT INSPIRE LOVE, I WILL CAUSE FEAR. H e senses her well before before he sees her. It is sheer luck that he is downwind, so that her scent drifts like rosepetals towards him while he remains as elusive as a silver-eyed falcon. But it is unmistakable, the smell that tiptoes like a cloying memory across his onyx muzzle. Scales. Vectaeryn. Kirin. It awakes a darkness in Caine that he’d thought had dissipated with the rising of the sun — a chained, slavering terror revived once again when the midnight bells tolled the hour like drums. He has less control over himself than he thinks. There are more of them here, besides the ivory prince? Agenor has never told him. Caine scowls at the thought as he banks into a sharp descent, the air as sharp as needles against his satin skin. He doesn’t know why he ever expects anything but snarling lies from his master’s blackened lips. If there is another, though, then today is a day as fine as any to greet a fellow denizen — and an ascended one at that. His hooves glide across the slippery moss as he alights upon the peak like a dark Raziel, seconds before the violet-scaled kirin makes her own hard landing. After a wincing recovery, she swivels her noble crown once, twice, across the land, her ember eyes as keen as a kite’s. Caine folds himself neatly behind a jagged boulder, the tips of his raven wings barely escaping her detection. Not yet. He can’t reveal himself yet, not before he puzzles out who she is. His brow furrows in thought as he watches her, silver eyes narrowing as the pieces slowly align. From the numerous books Caine had read about the royal family of House Solaris (as he’d never even laid eyes on any of the gilded kirins before Isorath, as per the wishes of the ever-pleasant Agenor), winged kirins were solely of royal blood. A princess, then? he ponders, as he regards those reptilian wings with slow-growing interest. A cousin or a sister of Isorath’s, he supposes — she looks young, too young, to be anything but. As Caine mulls over each possibility like tarot cards, a pleased smile lodges itself deeper and deeper against his lips the more certain he is of his conclusion. The boy is sharp enough to snatch an opportunity by the teeth when he finds one, and meeting another Vectaeryn royal is a rare encounter indeed. Much too tantalizing to pass. He approaches her slowly, a knight swathed in black. A boy draped in a starless sky, with eyes of lunar light. Lovely. Deadly. “You are far from your palace, Princess,” he remarks, voice as soft as a nightingale’s song. @Vaella | "speech" | notes:
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