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I can't remember why I never learned to fly but like a broken bird I'll try and I still don't understand but i'll catch the wind I can
She looked like she was hewn from moonlight, this fae, with great antlers affixed upon her head like some sort of fairy crown. The new morning light gave her an iridescent glow and made her seem all the more serene. Indeed, the chaotic nature of her appearance, wet through and coated in sand, made her seem that much more otherworldly. He felt a false idol compared to the graceful lines of her head and body; the fact she had a mythical beast as a companion seemed par for the course.
Still, his interest outweighed his timidity, and he picked his way down the slope towards her. A lark ran pell-mell up a nearby hedgerow singing the song of the dawn, and deep in the grass, the locusts and grasshoppers began to buzz their wings and dry them of the night’s collected dew. A nearby field of moonflowers had long since snapped shut, their heavy green heads bowing low to the rays of the morning sun. They would not show their beautiful pale faces until the golden orb was long gone and the moon had replaced it at its crystalline zenith.
The memory of his nightmare lingered like spiderwebs stretched from the corners of his mind, cold and shining with dew. There was an unease sticking to the inside of his ribs, as well, the bitter taste of the raw emotion felt while his mind was unfettered by sleep. He tried to shake it off and present a welcoming face as he approached the stranger and her griffin. It was not hard to do-- he was small and rather unassuming and had always lacked the larger presence of his siblings. His brother, the same size as him, had possessed ten times the personality; and his father was known for chopping off the feet and even heads of those who displeased him.
It was not hard to walk a path of the awe of others when they feared for their lives.
He watched with unfettered delight as the young creature spread it’s wings-- impressive even for its stature-- and took flight. He watched the griffon pull loop-de-loops in the dawn, tracing its trail with his head until he was slightly dizzy. “It’s well-deserved. She is an exquisite specimen.” He tore his gaze from the beast in question and smiled and Arah. “On the risk of being macabre, I’ve studied the skeletons of elders-- long in the beak, most likely passed from natural causes. In my homeland, they are incredibly solitary, and more of a threat than a fascination.” Indeed, adult Desert griffons were known for picking off weary travelers and hunting the nomadic herd which crossed the great Sagudal. Atlas always imagined the first time he saw one would also be his last.
The doe emitted a breath like that of a tired mother, then confirmed this sentiment by announcing her responsibility for the baby hybrid. Atlas gave his best bow-- it was perfect, honestly, and amazing how his muscles moved through the motions even after long years. “My name is Atlas, wanderer of these lands. The pleasure is all mine.”
Arah turned to take in her surroundings and for the first time Atlas truly noticed the stress written upon her visage: the wet-strung hair, sand clinging to her pelt, the gentle tremble in her limbs from exertion, or nerves, or both. She told him he was timely and he could not help but chuckle. “May just well be the first time I’ve heard such a thing,” he said, good-natured. Still, knowledge was his passion, and he did so love to teach. “The continent you’ve come to is called Novus. You’ve landed in Delumine, home of the Dawn Court. If you follow the coastline south you will come to the capital, where the Sovereign holds their court.” He paused, ears flicking in thought. “Though, you’ve come at a strenuous time, one of great change. There is no true sovereign right now, and while nothing has devolved into chaos, there is still an air of questioning about.”
He beamed at the little griffin until the creature grew bored and wandered off in search of entertainment, or perhaps food. He had countless questions he wanted to ask, but ensuring the mare’s safety was more important.
@Arah ! "Speech." !
Still, his interest outweighed his timidity, and he picked his way down the slope towards her. A lark ran pell-mell up a nearby hedgerow singing the song of the dawn, and deep in the grass, the locusts and grasshoppers began to buzz their wings and dry them of the night’s collected dew. A nearby field of moonflowers had long since snapped shut, their heavy green heads bowing low to the rays of the morning sun. They would not show their beautiful pale faces until the golden orb was long gone and the moon had replaced it at its crystalline zenith.
The memory of his nightmare lingered like spiderwebs stretched from the corners of his mind, cold and shining with dew. There was an unease sticking to the inside of his ribs, as well, the bitter taste of the raw emotion felt while his mind was unfettered by sleep. He tried to shake it off and present a welcoming face as he approached the stranger and her griffin. It was not hard to do-- he was small and rather unassuming and had always lacked the larger presence of his siblings. His brother, the same size as him, had possessed ten times the personality; and his father was known for chopping off the feet and even heads of those who displeased him.
It was not hard to walk a path of the awe of others when they feared for their lives.
He watched with unfettered delight as the young creature spread it’s wings-- impressive even for its stature-- and took flight. He watched the griffon pull loop-de-loops in the dawn, tracing its trail with his head until he was slightly dizzy. “It’s well-deserved. She is an exquisite specimen.” He tore his gaze from the beast in question and smiled and Arah. “On the risk of being macabre, I’ve studied the skeletons of elders-- long in the beak, most likely passed from natural causes. In my homeland, they are incredibly solitary, and more of a threat than a fascination.” Indeed, adult Desert griffons were known for picking off weary travelers and hunting the nomadic herd which crossed the great Sagudal. Atlas always imagined the first time he saw one would also be his last.
The doe emitted a breath like that of a tired mother, then confirmed this sentiment by announcing her responsibility for the baby hybrid. Atlas gave his best bow-- it was perfect, honestly, and amazing how his muscles moved through the motions even after long years. “My name is Atlas, wanderer of these lands. The pleasure is all mine.”
Arah turned to take in her surroundings and for the first time Atlas truly noticed the stress written upon her visage: the wet-strung hair, sand clinging to her pelt, the gentle tremble in her limbs from exertion, or nerves, or both. She told him he was timely and he could not help but chuckle. “May just well be the first time I’ve heard such a thing,” he said, good-natured. Still, knowledge was his passion, and he did so love to teach. “The continent you’ve come to is called Novus. You’ve landed in Delumine, home of the Dawn Court. If you follow the coastline south you will come to the capital, where the Sovereign holds their court.” He paused, ears flicking in thought. “Though, you’ve come at a strenuous time, one of great change. There is no true sovereign right now, and while nothing has devolved into chaos, there is still an air of questioning about.”
He beamed at the little griffin until the creature grew bored and wandered off in search of entertainment, or perhaps food. He had countless questions he wanted to ask, but ensuring the mare’s safety was more important.
