TORIELLE
It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams
The icy grip of winter dug deep into the spring, holding on with every last fibre of it’s being. Though the season had begun to change, the atmosphere clung to frost until the noon sun could disperse the chill. It seemed spring in Novus, true spring, would still be a week or so off. Torielle was simply grateful to see grass again, even if it continued to be dusted in fragile crystals each morning.
Delumine had been her home for the last few years, and all the while she had done very little to explore it, nevermind the world beyond its borders. While the strange encounter she’d had at the end of winter was nearly forgotten, it had spurred in her a desire to travel, to seek more knowledge of the land she had been thrust into. It had occurred to the mare that she’d been afraid to become comfortable, that by intimately knowing the world she would have been relinquishing all ties to her former life. The wheels had been set in motion, even if she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge them, and now she needed to do something about it.
Her dark pistons carried her across the Viride, the only part of the Dawn Court she felt at ease in. Rarely did her path take her to the edges of the treeline, and that was something she intended to change. The mare had heard the roar of the river long before she had seen the break in the foliage that indicated it’s presence ahead. The trees thinned, almost as if an artist had carved away room for the water to flow undisturbed, a hefty border of earth on either side of the feature.
As the woman emerged from the forest, Torielle spotted a figure upstream. At this distance she could not make out stallion or mare, but their build was hardy and they carried with them wings for flight. Their coat was unusual, a sort of bright blue branching from their topline across their neck and flank, breaking up the otherwise monochromatic colouring. The mare watched as the figure seemed to drop something to the roiling depths, speaking to themselves, or to their god, before returning to stationary.
The antlered woman made a careful approach, the sound of bells in her antlers and rustling coins likely dulled by the sounds of the river. She stopped a cordial distance from the figure, who she could now tell was a mare. The winged mare appeared exhausted; whatever she had been doing seemed to have taken a toll on her.
“Spring seems a little late in coming, doesn’t it?” Torielle inquired gently, hoping this neutral point of conversation would be welcome.
art by the-day-of-shadow character by scapeh table by sunny
