o d i l e
someone holds me safe and warm,
horses prance through a silver storm
figures dancing gracefully across my memory
Wings glimmered, as white as the snow the swan flew over. His black beak standing out in the otherwise brightly lit winter day. If you were watching, you'd have noticed the way he doesn't seem to be part of the real pack. You watch as he sores free from the other flocks, you would be in awe of the intelligent way he seems to swoop down and entice the other birds to chase, to play - as if youthfulness had been captured by that ivory bird. The tears that leak down your face likely help to obscure some of these features however, and as he sees others flock to you, after the treats you tear off for them, he ignores those small crumbs, dark eyes instead focus quietly, curiously on those tears streaking coffee and cream tinted cheeks.
The swan honks, wings waving, but it's not a display of aggression. Instead he seems to be motioning the other birds back, to not crowd you, to give you space, to let you gather yourself, least you become too overwhelmed. Only then does he approach you. His dark features almost obscure the onyx eyes that stare up at you with more concern than most birds may experience, most birds may feel. Are you struck by those eyes, or does your own tear-filled gaze blind you to the fact he's more than just a bird. The swan doesn't hesitate to broach your space, himself; however. He approaches with out fear, walking right up to you, his wings slightly out to help assist his awkward balance as he waddles on his legs.
This creature, normally so graceful when in the sky becomes a klutz when he's forced to land. Those wings are soon wrapping delicately around your limbs, that small head nuzzling your knee as if to offer comfort. "Where I come from, pretty princesses are never allowed to cry - so why do you shed tears so freely, m'lady?" The little swan asks, his tone betraying concern, even as his compliments are meant to try to encourage a smile from those milky lips you possess, to gently encourage you to slow those tears, "Do you need any help? You're not hurt are you? Oh, I'm sorry, my name is Odile. I don't mean to intrude, I just don't like to see ladies cry." It always broke the heart of the horse-turned-swan, and his only interest now was to see you smile again.
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Thomasin
Notes: <3 <3
