Raglan
may the bridges i burn light the way
That she didn’t move away comes as no surprise to the stallion, for his entire life he has honed the are skill of being disarming, of allowing those around him to relax. At first, he and his fellow Crows had sought to profit off of such a temperament, but Raglan quickly found that it bruised his heart more than lined his coffers. The bloody skinned youth had even gone so far as to sneak back the riches he had stolen, much to his Crows’ chagrin. From there, the pegasus had worn his heart openly, albeit dressed up beneath layers of humor and innocent flirtation.
The setting sun was painting the pair in blaring shades of vermillion and gold; for her part, the mare looked an angel, glistening and glimmering in that burnished skin of hers. Raglan felt himself nod appreciatively, feeling refreshed by the wholesome simplicity of he maiden’s design. It was rare, in the fantastical lands of Novus, to find an equine and not some mix of mythical and terran beasts. She held herself well, not that it was any matter what Raglan in the capacity of a stranger felt, but the stallion felt his heart gladden that she didn’t seem to have been beaten down by the dangerous whimsy of such a place as his home.
A smile graced her features and the stag couldn’t help but respond in kind as her reply drifted across the small distance between them, darkened lips tilting skyward. ”Ah,” He began, mischief flickering in the depths of opalescent eyes, ”Luckily I am no gentleman, and the Lady has grown accustomed to my wheeling over her waves like some great and crying gull.” He grinned wider, an almost-dimple appearing just behind the fold of his smile as he gazed toward the burning horizon.
”I would hope, however,” Raglan’s voice had softened noticeably, his charming grin slipping almost completely away to make room for a sort of wistfulness. ”That those men that dared scorn the Seas or her sisters were made to regret it however the scorned saw fit.” A beat of silence then, broken only my the monstrous roar and hiss of the crashing waves far, far below their crumbling precipice.
”I’m Raglan. Thank you — for not pushing me to the sea and for letting me join you. In truth, I had come out here to reminisce and feel sorry for myself, but I think you’re already proving to be better company than bittersweet memory.”
He nodded his horned skull, as if agreeing with himself, pale eyes still fixed upon the thrashing waters. The Silvertongue liked her already; he could tell from the way she had glanced at him from beneath lashes of spun gold, how the gentle steadiness of her soul had reached out and stilled his sparrow heart. She was good, and he was glad.
The setting sun was painting the pair in blaring shades of vermillion and gold; for her part, the mare looked an angel, glistening and glimmering in that burnished skin of hers. Raglan felt himself nod appreciatively, feeling refreshed by the wholesome simplicity of he maiden’s design. It was rare, in the fantastical lands of Novus, to find an equine and not some mix of mythical and terran beasts. She held herself well, not that it was any matter what Raglan in the capacity of a stranger felt, but the stallion felt his heart gladden that she didn’t seem to have been beaten down by the dangerous whimsy of such a place as his home.
A smile graced her features and the stag couldn’t help but respond in kind as her reply drifted across the small distance between them, darkened lips tilting skyward. ”Ah,” He began, mischief flickering in the depths of opalescent eyes, ”Luckily I am no gentleman, and the Lady has grown accustomed to my wheeling over her waves like some great and crying gull.” He grinned wider, an almost-dimple appearing just behind the fold of his smile as he gazed toward the burning horizon.
”I would hope, however,” Raglan’s voice had softened noticeably, his charming grin slipping almost completely away to make room for a sort of wistfulness. ”That those men that dared scorn the Seas or her sisters were made to regret it however the scorned saw fit.” A beat of silence then, broken only my the monstrous roar and hiss of the crashing waves far, far below their crumbling precipice.
”I’m Raglan. Thank you — for not pushing me to the sea and for letting me join you. In truth, I had come out here to reminisce and feel sorry for myself, but I think you’re already proving to be better company than bittersweet memory.”
He nodded his horned skull, as if agreeing with himself, pale eyes still fixed upon the thrashing waters. The Silvertongue liked her already; he could tell from the way she had glanced at him from beneath lashes of spun gold, how the gentle steadiness of her soul had reached out and stilled his sparrow heart. She was good, and he was glad.
"Talk"
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