[P] and there was the wordless, singing world

[Nicnevin]

This happens also when the heron passes: too quickly.
today I lucked into seeing how richly blue / are the tops of his wing-feathers.

Whatcha find?

The – sudden – voice is louder than the wind in my ears, louder than the faint lap of water along the stone edges of the pool – and I was so utterly engrossed in the strange, new things in the water that I didn’t hear anyone else approach. Before I can think about it, a startled (and incredibly high-pitched) yelp has escaped my throat, and my hooves have slid on the wet rocks. I must have jumped. I don’t have time to consider it; I lose my balance and go cascading towards the water below.

I catch myself, but only barely. I am still only halfway accustomed to having wings; before this life, I only had them as a firefly, and they felt quite different when they were so small and fast and fragile. They snap out at the very last moment, sending up a spray of salt water as they connect with the shallow pool. I still think, for a moment, that I am about to go cascading into the water, and I snap my eyes shut; but the cascade of cold water never comes, and neither does the sensation of colliding with the creatures in the pool.

When I – tentatively – open my eyes, I find myself hanging a few inches above the water, wings beating almost subconsciously; my hooves drag against the surface, and I can feel a biting chill on my legs and chest, where a spray of water clings to my coat. My teeth are chattering, and I feel strangely shaky, in a way that a knight should absolutely not be shaky, but I pull myself together and beat my wings a time or two, just enough to set me back down on the rocky edge of the pool.

I turn back, finally, towards the source of the voice, and I briefly consider glaring. I don’t (though I suspect that my eyes narrow by a fraction or two; it is difficult to contain the brunt of my annoyance) and tell myself that it was probably unintentional.

(As I stare at the smile curved across his lips, I find myself thinking that it might not have been as unintentional as I’d like to believe.)

The boy is mottled and faintly bluish, like the rocks that compose the cliffs, and it takes me a moment to remember his question. “Oh, I’m-“ I stammer, stabilizing myself on the rocks, “I’m not sure, actually. I’ve never seen anything like these creatures, before…I think one of them is a fish?”

As far as the others go, well – I have no idea. It’s hard to say exactly how I’m looking at him, but I think my gaze turns faintly hopeful. Whoever he is, I’d say he knows more about the sea than I do; if he’s generous, he might even be able to tell me what those things are.

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@Caspian || <3 <3 <3 | "ars poetica," sally ball 

"Speech!" 

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