Helios does not pull the sun alone. Is the first thing Ianthe thinks, staring breathlessly at the stallion coming in on wings made of light.
Heretic! Screeches soon after, for he is white and black and feathered in all the ways no Swift has ever been, and Daphne had been very clear on what that means.
And yet still he bares wings fashioned from sunlight. Perhaps they are a boon from Helios in return for aid in wheeling the sun across the sky, or maybe it’s some sign of Apollo’s divine favor. In the end, it isn’t truly her business what god had granted him his feathers, just that they had. Just that he isn’t like all the others the Swifts have crossed paths with before.
And how fortunate that this god-favored stallion should find her in this land of heretics! Oh, he may play at being shocked all he likes – Ianthe isn’t about to tell someone with the god’s ear what to do – but Ianthe is now certain that the gods have been moved to pity for a reason. Why else would they have sent one of their favored to deliver her?
His landing leaves something to be admired, but Ianthe can forgive that. His eagerness to obey his gods’ direction and assist her more than make up for his lack of grace. And my! what a talented actor he is! If she hadn’t already sorted what he was about she surely would have thought him to be a surprised passerby.
Not, of course, that she can treat him like any other passerby. No Swift worth their wings would bother with a grounded flier, only heretics are so attracted to weakness, but to treat a god-favored like a heretic! No, that simply wouldn’t do.
With only one recourse she tosses her head a bit haughtily. “The gods must have seen fit to preserve me,” obviously, goes unsaid, but not entirely unheard in her dry response. She’ll admit that she really is not the best of actresses, but she does smile at him to make up for the lack, encouraging him to share in the secret.
After a seconds too long pause, she reminds herself that heretics – and he’s not a heretic, she needs something better to call him, perhaps outsider? – outsiders (yes, that’s much better) are so fussy about their names and personal connections. For all that he’s not a heretic he is very obviously not a Swift either, and as a god-favored she really ought to cater to his sensibilities. “My name is Ianthe.” It feels a little unnatural to introduce herself so brazenly.
Heretic! Screeches soon after, for he is white and black and feathered in all the ways no Swift has ever been, and Daphne had been very clear on what that means.
And yet still he bares wings fashioned from sunlight. Perhaps they are a boon from Helios in return for aid in wheeling the sun across the sky, or maybe it’s some sign of Apollo’s divine favor. In the end, it isn’t truly her business what god had granted him his feathers, just that they had. Just that he isn’t like all the others the Swifts have crossed paths with before.
And how fortunate that this god-favored stallion should find her in this land of heretics! Oh, he may play at being shocked all he likes – Ianthe isn’t about to tell someone with the god’s ear what to do – but Ianthe is now certain that the gods have been moved to pity for a reason. Why else would they have sent one of their favored to deliver her?
His landing leaves something to be admired, but Ianthe can forgive that. His eagerness to obey his gods’ direction and assist her more than make up for his lack of grace. And my! what a talented actor he is! If she hadn’t already sorted what he was about she surely would have thought him to be a surprised passerby.
Not, of course, that she can treat him like any other passerby. No Swift worth their wings would bother with a grounded flier, only heretics are so attracted to weakness, but to treat a god-favored like a heretic! No, that simply wouldn’t do.
With only one recourse she tosses her head a bit haughtily. “The gods must have seen fit to preserve me,” obviously, goes unsaid, but not entirely unheard in her dry response. She’ll admit that she really is not the best of actresses, but she does smile at him to make up for the lack, encouraging him to share in the secret.
After a seconds too long pause, she reminds herself that heretics – and he’s not a heretic, she needs something better to call him, perhaps outsider? – outsiders (yes, that’s much better) are so fussy about their names and personal connections. For all that he’s not a heretic he is very obviously not a Swift either, and as a god-favored she really ought to cater to his sensibilities. “My name is Ianthe.” It feels a little unnatural to introduce herself so brazenly.
@Aion - walk. "talk" ||| Hi! I look forward to threading with you :) Ianthe has gotten the entirely wrong idea, but with confidence! Also, a day after I posted this I realized I could have titled the thread 'pride comes before the fall', and now I'm disappointed in myself, lol.
