[AW] nothing as lucky, as easy, or free;

[Asterion]

Asterion in sunshine and in shadow*   The strike of her tail reminds him of the slap of Raymond’s tail-blade against his flank; they are harsh teachers, these fearsome creatures he considers his friends. Asterion steels himself, combatting his instinct to lean away, to open a safer space between them. But he says nothing, nothing to her rebuke, which is echoed by a growl of thunder that could never be as ominous as the threat in her voice. He only withdraws his muzzle, and meets her scarred and silver eye, and nods once, solemn. A raindrop rolls over his brow, down his cheek. Asterion waits with a held breath for her response to his question, but it never comes. Instead he feels her tighten beside him, each honed muscle drawn taught as the storm before it broke. He feels her attention shift, her interest sharpen, and he follows the line of her gaze to see the stranger come walking through the storm. In the mist beaten up from the meadow, she is a lithe figure in red with a pale shroud of hair pressed tight to her skin. Asterion’s gaze is curious where Calliope’s is predatory as lightning carves a path above the stranger and thunder, following, cracks. For a moment the stallion is distracted; when his gaze finds the mares again it is to see the unicorn with her horn angled toward the stranger’s throat. Without a second thought he presses forward, drawing abreast with Calliope, a wilder storm than the one above them. His tail flicks against her hocks, and there is something almost sharp in his dark gaze before he turns it on the stranger. Asterion, too, finds it strange for someone to approach two horses as engaged as they were in the midst of a storm, but he wants to find no threats at this festival. And to have Calliope move forward as though to defend him – it makes something strange turn over in his chest. Is he so weak? You are not done with your story, he hears her say again, and he studies the stranger in the rain. “Just another reveler, I’m sure,” he says, voice low but loud enough over the storm. He wears a slip of a half-smile, and it only feels a little like acting. “Though a bold one, to not wait for the rain to ease. Is there something we can help you with?” Even through the rain, he finds himself snared by her eyes – how keen they were, how they seemed unable to settle on a color. He glances away before he can be accused of staring. @Calliope @Manon  eyyy ladies