“She can be glorious or terrible,”
The moment the stallion's eyes turn hard that small beast swirling idle in her starts to rise. It eddies against her bones like a caught current. Her eyes start to blaze not like a calm sea but a furious one on which a storm is starting to gather, and gather, and gather. It pulls her down, down, down to the place where she isn't a single unicorn on the beach but a queen marching into war. Isra smiles and it looks like a blade of white slicing through the darkness of her muzzle.
It's almost easy now, to picture that blade of bone upon her head as a crown.
Fable swims closer to shore now, drawn forth by swirling storm building in his unicorn. His wings make all the waves froth white when he cuts through the tide. “Whether time allowed it or not, I would stand no trial before you.” Her voice is softer than the sound of Fable moving through the waves, but it cuts sharp as the edge of a dune-grass blade. Something in her eyes flashes, like electric rain across a dark sea. It says, in glances of brightness and darkness, do not test me stallion, you will not win.
The shoreline turns to black diamonds, hard and glittering. Each gem shines in the sunlight like shrunken moons and fallen stars. It almost looks as if she has pulled down the night sky sleeping behind the sun to the shore and coated the world in black. “But,” She says, stepping to move around the stallion to see the child, Illu, hiding in his shadow. Her smile looks less like a blade then and more like a sickle moon, soft and silver, full of all the things dreams are made off. For the first time she feels something blooming in her that doesn't feel like vengeance and magic.
It feels like hope, a soft bloom with silk edges that makes her wonder what it was she loved about metal flowers. Half of the black diamonds turn to opals and the rest turn to pink quartz. The shore is bright with her remembered softness.
“I accept.” The hollow curls of her horn start singing at the ocean breeze rushes over them in a torrent. “No harm will come to Illu while there is air inside my lungs.” Her gaze turns hard when she looks back at him, challenging him to talk of trials again. Isra drops all the foal's titles, they mean nothing to her.
Fable finally joins her, towering over them all like a sentry. When he brushes his nose gently across her hip it's not the touch of a dragon to unicorn. Fable touches her like a orphan touches a mother.
@Illu
It's almost easy now, to picture that blade of bone upon her head as a crown.
Fable swims closer to shore now, drawn forth by swirling storm building in his unicorn. His wings make all the waves froth white when he cuts through the tide. “Whether time allowed it or not, I would stand no trial before you.” Her voice is softer than the sound of Fable moving through the waves, but it cuts sharp as the edge of a dune-grass blade. Something in her eyes flashes, like electric rain across a dark sea. It says, in glances of brightness and darkness, do not test me stallion, you will not win.
The shoreline turns to black diamonds, hard and glittering. Each gem shines in the sunlight like shrunken moons and fallen stars. It almost looks as if she has pulled down the night sky sleeping behind the sun to the shore and coated the world in black. “But,” She says, stepping to move around the stallion to see the child, Illu, hiding in his shadow. Her smile looks less like a blade then and more like a sickle moon, soft and silver, full of all the things dreams are made off. For the first time she feels something blooming in her that doesn't feel like vengeance and magic.
It feels like hope, a soft bloom with silk edges that makes her wonder what it was she loved about metal flowers. Half of the black diamonds turn to opals and the rest turn to pink quartz. The shore is bright with her remembered softness.
“I accept.” The hollow curls of her horn start singing at the ocean breeze rushes over them in a torrent. “No harm will come to Illu while there is air inside my lungs.” Her gaze turns hard when she looks back at him, challenging him to talk of trials again. Isra drops all the foal's titles, they mean nothing to her.
Fable finally joins her, towering over them all like a sentry. When he brushes his nose gently across her hip it's not the touch of a dragon to unicorn. Fable touches her like a orphan touches a mother.
