some people are born with tornadoes in their lives,
but constellations in their eyes.
other people are born with stars at their feet,
but their souls are lost at sea.
- nikita gill
Colors. So many colors washed in hues of deep violet, crimson, and luscious orange.. like watercolors melting together across the ocean of sky. The air was thick and humid; the world fully blossomed as spring slowly gave way to the coming heat of summer. Soon, the fever to come would blanket the land, and with it.. the coming off summertide storms.
And oh, how the storms ravaged. Wild and untamed and wicked in their beauty. Each tide of heat would bring them, swirling in their madness and destruction. But when the riot of rain and thunder was over, a quiet calm would left in it's place.
From a young age, the summer storms called to her. Lightning in her eyes, hurricanes drowning oxygen in her lungs, and the color of storm clouds forever painted on the plumes of the her wings. The shattering of rain on the sea and the crack of thunder rolling across the darkening sky sang to her like a sweet lullaby. And as the sun fell asleep to welcome the coming of night, the inky mare stood with orbs on the horizon.
She stood proud on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the angry sea, strong winds whipping her silvery mane and tail around her warrior-built frame. Salt and brine filled her nostrils as she breathed deeply, the crash of waves below her as loud as a clap of thunder. Across the ocean, she eyed the gathering of dark billows, their violet and indigo clouds suffocating the last colors of sunlight from the sky. Flashes of light cracked, the blood in her veins thrumming as the storm gathered it's strength. The gypsy woman stretched her wings, aching to take flight and soar to the eye of the cyclone. Instead she watched silently, waiting, her heart drumming as the storm sang a song only she could hear.
---
Anyone welcome <3
Thread inspired by this playist.
home is behind the world ahead
there are many paths to tread
The night she was born was a storm of ice and snow flying through a sky of obsidian. The wind wailed across the tops of evergreens and cold seemed like it would never end. It sounded as demons howled in the shadows, riding on the backs of predators that smelled the afterbirth and thought there would be an easy meal. A pale worm like body covered in crimson and the cheesy paste all newborn humans have when they gasp their first attempt at breating, lungs inflating until they can exhale out a cry. Weir’s mother reached for her child, hoping that there would be a bulge between those chubby pink and slimy legs but the look on her face was a complex mix of anguish and joy. The storm rolled on and lasted for many more days before Weir could be presented to her father, the king. He took one look at the albino spawn in his mistress’s arms and immediately condemned both to never return. Walking back into the woods, her mother carried the ice storm bastard.
Storms in spring are not unheard of but they are not typical. The colors behind the dark clouds reflected across curved orbs as she stared at the storm in the distance. In the light of the lightning flashes, she appeared like a scarred ghost with massive skeletal horns. The necklace of six red weirwood leaves preserved in amber on the back tip of her caribou horn clinked in rhythm with the gusts of wind. Long straight silver tendrils of mane and tail whipped furiously in the gusts that tried to knock her off balance. She weaves her way towards the cliffs of the terminus sea that overlooked the churning abyss that separated the dusk and night courts.
Storms are in the very fibers of Weirs soul for she came into this world in a storm, she will probably be leaving this world in a storm so she shows no fear. She is comforted by the cyclones of air and the streaks of light that cracked and boomed behind the watercolors in the sky. The buzz of the electrical clouds passed in waves, dying down and then picking up. Eventually her rosy hooves passed over one last hill that led to a ledge that overlooked the waves below. In all the chaos there stood a Pegasus. Weir knew the storm would silence her approach. She surveyed this winged, silver-haired mare from a distance and noticed there is a calm to her and she lacked any tension in the whipping winds. How unusual.
Finding solace in a stranger who is as comfortable as she in this storm, she approached on the side of this stranger and walked up to the cliff edge. She looked out at the dark, white-capped waves for a short time before looking over at the stranger and getting a better look of her in the flashes of light that broke the blanket of watercolor. Hello stranger. It’s a beautiful evening wouldn’t you agree? She half smiled warmth that cut the biting cold of the rain before looking back out over the sea.
As if summoned by the storm, Reichenbach arrived upon the shores of the Terminus, his coal curls flying wildly around the rough-hewn bones of his face. He adored this weather, felt lifted by it, as if being stranded amongst the chaotic wind and the rumbling of the bruised sky brought forth a side of him that slumbered. The storm was only growing in strength as he watched the tumbling waves, silver eyes flashing along with the lightening in the distance - how fierce he felt, how alive. While most were hidden in their beds, tucked away against the wildness of the night and the storm, this was where the Night King wanted to be.
His blood thrummed with the storm, his bone white grin a little off kilter and wild as something made him turn to the clifftop - to Aislinn. She was beautiful, stunning, even - and standing atop the cliff with those feather-soft wings spread... Reichenbach doubted that vision would leave his mind any time soon. When he'd first met her he'd been caught by pleasure, amidst all of the Night Court denizens he had watched her, silver eyes peering over multi-coloured heads even as he chatted and laughed with others.
At some point that night she had vanished - but lingered in his mind like a slow burning ember until each step had sounded like her name. And here she was: wild but contained, an unfurling flower or the slick of a steel blade. Each rumble of thunder set his chest tighter, ablaze and drunk on the weather as he made his choice: he would find her.
Each step was faster, each strike of lightning sending him more into that heart thrum, the abyss he avoided so, so close to the surface. At the top, a little breathless, his silver eyes sought her - and found her next to... Weir? While a small part of him groaned that he had wanted Aislinn to himself, wanted to discover why he felt drawn to her... the larger, sweeter part of him set his lips into a gypsies grin.
He drew forward, emerging as if from shadow and mist, argent eyes burning bright (if slightly wild) as he answered Weir's gentle question;
"I would."
The sound was as wild as the storm itself, rough and low and yet beautiful all the same.
some people are born with tornadoes in their lives,
but constellations in their eyes.
other people are born with stars at their feet,
but their souls are lost at sea.
- nikita gill
The coming storm sang to her in sweet musical notes as she closed her eyes to focus on the beauty of it's chaotic roar. She tucked her wings in close, relaxing the great feathery appendages without a single plume touching the ground. Aislinn reveled silently, icy blue orbs blinking open to watch the rolling violet billows rushing towards land from across the sea. The sky darkened as night spilled like ebony ink, eating away the last rays on sunlight until there was nothing left. Lightning crackled, sharp and beautiful, breaking up the bruised clouds in flashes of white light. Aislinn stared from her perch on the cliff top, wondering to herself if she had ever seen anything so wickedly lovely in her life.
As she watched, the stormsinger did not flinch as a warm presence appeared at her side. Momentarily she tasted her surprise, like lemon candy sweetened with honey; Aislinn took comfort around those who felt the same as she. Maybe, just maybe, she was not as strange as she had felt when she was young; another thunder-hearted soul who was at home with the fury of angry rain showers and the dance of hurricanes.
A moment or so passed, before the beautiful stranger spoke gently to her. Only then did the gypsy woman turn her gaze to the pale creature at her side. She was alluring and mysterious; stripes unlike any she had seen crossing over her ivory coat. Underneath the strong taste of salt in the air, Aislinn took note that the newcomer did not give off the distinct scent of Denocte. However, although the woman appeared warm and unthreatening, the warrior kept her caution on a back burner for safe keeping.
A genuine smile tugged at her velvet lips at the woman's words though, and as a reply formed in her mouth, her king appeared with an answer. He arrived as if he was made of shadows and stars - a true embodiment of the court he ruled - and something caught in her throat as her eyes widened with... something she could not recognize. As if a cord snapped violently in her rib cage, Aislinn dipped her crown quickly in respect. "My King."
The stormsinger slowly rose, before she looked up at his handsome face, at the orbs of molten silver that she could not shake from her memory. Visions of his coronation flooded back to her — not as if they had left her anyways — her heart drumming madly to the rumble of thunder all around them. Her muscles tensed as she remembered how she reveled and danced beneath the stars, a sigh escaping her as she recalled vanishing into the mist as the night quieted to dawn.
For the days and long nights following, she was haunted by the bliss of meeting him, his name like a whispered promise in her ear. He knew what she was, and that fact alone overwhelmed her with curiosity and wonder. Aislinn remembered how the shock of watching the string of gypsy coins clinked as he shook his wild curls; and now, here he stood before her. Proud and beautiful in the madness of the storm around him, and.. around a complete stranger from another court.
Aislinn blew air through her nostrils, angling her body to move between Reichenbach and the stranger. No matter how much she yearned for the company of someone like-hearted, her need to protect burned in her like a wildfire in a dry summer — unrelenting and untamed. But she did not want to come off as rude, the dreamer in her blood battling the warrior on her other shoulder. Exhaling slowly, the seal bay mare let her muscles relax. A single raindrop fell before being followed by another, and another, dripping down the planes of her face as she looked to the other woman and her king. "Yes, I would say it is." Lightning crackled across the dark sky, as if in answer. A marvelous, wondrous thing as the stormsinger relaxed even further. How could she feel tense in a place she had never felt more alive?
---
@Weir @Reichenbach <3
Thread inspired by this playist.
i s o r a t h
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.
Summer Storms had raged when he had been born too. The rain had done little to stifle the humidity in the air as the thunder loomed overhead and shook the foundations of the palacial home he would come to know and love. The sea's had battered the cliffsides his ancestral home had perched upon for eons, and the dragon's had joined in the thundering chorus as they'd taken wing to revel in the dangerous dance. So he had come to marvel them fondly, ears perked forward and eyes turned skyward to drink in the lightning which lanced across the sky in dazzling arcs of light. Lately, he had sought out the solace of the storm to drown out the storm which raged in the confines of his gilded rib cage, the rain which caressed his scaled body wiping clean the doubts and worries for one tender moment.
He'd seen many storms since his departure from his homeland, both in hours of great joy and great sorrow, but none had been so wonderful. Maybe he longed to hear the dragon's song among the thunder, if only for a glimpse at happier, freer times.
The rumble of the thunder was familiar quake in his chest as he approached the cliffs, his soul stirred, longing for him to stretch his leathery wings and take flight. Glide on the whipping winds and dance between the furious squalls out at sea. He is not the only one, it appeared, drawn to the beauty of such a display. Part of him can't help but flinch, shared spaces especially in such moments have come to be a sore spot for the winged kirin, yet he swallowed it down. He would stay, and perhaps something good would come of it.
His silver hair billowed in the wind as he neared, the long silken tendrils adrift in unruly curls, having escaped the confines of the hair pieces now clinging desperately to the few strands that remained in their grip. The sage isn't blessed with the hues of night or the tones of the earth and overcast skies like two of the gathered equines are blessed with, he much more resembled the mare of moonlight and striped with moon dust. He cannot appear and disappear so easily from the dark as the stallion had, or disappear into the raging skies as he assumes the winged mare can, but he is still effortless and serene in his stride despite his oddness, the iridescence of his coat reflecting in the last dying light of the sun. "Room for one more?" Isorath murmured, his dulcet tones carrying over the harshness of the wind. He stilled a small distance from the pale mare, lavender eyes watching the group with a curious gaze before they slid out toward the sea.
"Isorath talks."
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
It seemed that they were like so many this night, in that the closer they came to their destination, the more they thought they could perhaps, just perhaps, taste the scents of many on the winds. Seasoned with salt and the unquestionable tang of the ocean spray, scents of those unknown and those faces who had been seen before. A scent that was forever embroidered into their mind as bringing forth a voice whose tone was like rich chocolate, and the scents of those yet unknown, some from these very lands and some from a place away, yet nonetheless baring no metallic hint of blood in the winds.
The storms sent energy through their coat, their skin tingling with the oncoming lightning that would no doubt fall from the sky. It was not an itch that needed to be scratch, but the bidding to come and run, to dance with the energy that began to flow through flesh. Leap and buck and twirl, whinny and cry and rear, dance the night away in the company of the pounding rain and the bounding lightning that leapt across the sky, as nimble as a doe. Dance a romp in the middle of the night, eyes wide with child-like wonder and a grin that would leave cheeks aching in the morning.
Laugh because there is nothing better to describe the feeling in your breast than laugh, giggle quietly as your eyes squint shut and kick your hooves because you are so overcome with love for the glory that is the natural world and all it beauty. So overcome with love for life.
Let tears fall because it is too much, too much. Too much for one body to hold. Let tears fall and streak warm, salted stripes across your brilliant grin, because you cannot help but to show the fires and waters and winds and earths of your emotions in all the ways that you can.
And so they came to watch, to watch the way the storm stirred the energy they felt along their flesh into the waters of the oceans as well. The way the waves roared with the same overwhelming joy that roared within the dark equine's breast in tandem. To cry out into the night alongside those forces that seemed to feel the same things they did, to know the world in the same way they did.
But instead, they came to believe that they were not the only one who had come to see such things, and that they had all come in peace. There seemed to not be a hostile whisper in the winds, not even the slightest hint of aggression, despite the fact that although they were not quite certain, for they were not quite so familiar with the whole of their new Court, as they crested the lip of the path that should lead down to where the group had gathered, they were of the belief that not all of the members were those of the Night Court.
They had been correct in one thing, as they paused before descending, taking in the view of the others who were down below, Reichenbach was indeed here. Other than that, they knew not a face among the others who were down below.
It was hardly an issue in their mind.
Emerald colored hooves tapped softly, their sound lost amidst the wind as ears pricked forwards caught the edge of another's statement, and they felt a grin curl upon their face before they could stop it.
"Room for one more?"
"Better make that two more!"
They allowed their voice to carry out from their lips as gay as the forests of the spring that had just passed. They picked up their pace somewhat as they made to join the others, laughter slipping from mouth and eyes lighting up in delight as they nearly went skidding on the stone, having stepped at a wrong angle upon a too-slick stone. Their heart rate was most definitely up now from the surprise, but even though their legs had nearly collapsed in a very clumsy manner, they were nonetheless too caught up in the excitement of the moment to care.
They made their way to join the others as swiftly as they were able, hooves clacking against stone in a manner more audible to the group now that they were closer. And if the winged kirin whose available side they came upon allowed, they would step to his side and bump their shoulder against his for a moment, directing a happy smile in his direction before giving him his personal space and turning their gaze out to the sea, the wind whipping at their obsidian and emerald locks, the distant spray causing the proud crown of antlers atop their head to glimmer as if studded with diamonds, or perhaps stars.
home is behind the world ahead
there are many paths to tread
There is magic in this land, a vibration that thrums across the land and whispers in the leaves. The essence of it can be tasted in the water and seeps into the skin in the sun. In this rain that falls patters onto their backs like fingers drumming away to the melody of the storm. The water cascading down their skin over hair, skin, and ribs until it dripped from the soft underbellies of these new-found friends. Their connection is one that does not need to be verbalized, each can see what is happening.
First to greet them is a familiar face with his little trinkets chiming and his long curled locks wrapping around his body like a feather boa. He is far too pretty to be a stallion but Weir doubts he gets any complaints. A nod acknowledges is response with a smile that is wild like the eye of the storm but also as comforting as the first ray of light to warm you after the skies begin to clear. She makes note that she will need to speak more with him some other time, he is sovereign of the night court, and though Weir holds not position of power will not stop her of being of use to her sovereign.
Next to arrive is light of skin like she is but he shimmers in the light like gold and silver. There are scales on his shoulders, along his throat, face, and other places of his body. He looked like he came from some other dimension of period. He has wings that lack feathers and they have a sheen to them, unlike anything weir has ever seen before. They were much less enticing to touch than feathers with their soft streamline tips. Weir, in her typical curious ways, wanted to touch them if even for a moment. Almost losing herself in examining him she forgets to introduce herself or ask his name. She noted in her mind that this is another she will need to chat privately with, even if just to touch those wings.
She doesn’t even notice she is smiling at him with thoughts wings bouncing around the neural paths of her mind when yet another arrives and catches her attention. The sheer group that has grown form one single chance encounter is thrilling. Weir nods in acknowledgment to the final members response before speaking for the group. Everyone is welcome to enjoy the storm with us. Weir grins ear to ear and thinks of how she recognizes half of these horses but not the other half and how it doesn’t matter what court you are from, what your life was like before Novus, where you are on your journey now, Novus is home now and it is growing. It is something special, really special.
Laughing lightly weir can’t help herself in her lighthearted nature that she looks to the lightening, the thunder, the wailing and calls out loud and proud into the flashing churning darkness. She didn’t fear her actions, as if her calling into the heart of the storm was like she was challenging a monster or the gods. She didn’t care in this moment, she is alive in this moment calling to the sky. Her voice does not last long before drifting back into silence. The convex halves of her rose eyes staring out over the sea. If she had wings she would fly in this moment, she would. She wished she could spread wings wide and drift over the waters and touch the whitecaps but alas, she cannot. She is a creature of the land, snow, and storms and we are citizens of Novus. It is our turn now, our time to rule this land. She speaks to no one in particular and in no particular direction but her eyes remain forward.
@Aislinn @Reichenbach @Isorath @Seree
It's kinda crappy and sounded way better in my head but I tried to make it work but still feel like everyone is gonna look at her funny. XD
Oh well.
It was almost a blow to him, the words uttered and torn apart by the wind. He was a King, he was her King - but first and foremost, he was a man. The reminder that he had responsibilities, that he couldn't just whisk her away for a few weeks of bliss, was almost as bitter on his tongue as the idea of having to share her tonight. He kept her gaze as she watched him, something flickering in the depths of her intelligent azure eyes. Even when she turned away he watched her, blood thrumming with every breath, noticing with no small amount of pride how she positioned herself in front of him - protective.
He would have been just as ready to jump into whatever threat or fight emerged, in fact, he could think of nothing better to do while the lightning and the storm were crackling in his veins. Perhaps after the night was over he would train, sweat out the fierce desire and too-close fury that surged like some primal animal lurking underneath his skin. He watched the rain drops slide down her skin - once, twice, then dragged his eyes away to focus upon Weir.
Reichenbach smiled pleasantly, the roiling underneath his skin pushed aside for a moment. It was difficult not to like Weir - her presence was soft and sweet, like milk and honey. He was about to speak when a glint of gold and porcelain made his gaze shift, watching the approach of a ethereal looking man. Where Reichenbach was earth and flame, the other man appeared celestial - a moonbeam made man. The Night King felt volatile, violent - straining against the wildness of the storm as he tried to remain civil, a growl forming in his throat as Isorath's violet gaze swept over Aislinn. He swallowed the savagery, attempting to look menial despite how akin he felt with the raging storm.
But it was Seree's arrival that managed to set his flaring jealousy aside for a moment, the jovial sound of their laugh slapping the ire from his argent gaze. His grin emerged, welcoming, if a little wild, flush with raindrops as he began to speak;
"Welcome - to both of you"
His voice was a lilting baritone, musical and heated.
"I am Reichenbach, this is Aislinn; warrior of the Night Court, and this is Seree, one of our caretakers. This-" he gestured toward Weir's pale frame "is Weir, of the Dusk Court."
While Seree would have known who he was, Reichenbach doubted he had had the time yet to meet Aislinn - she was as wild a spirit as he, and didn't often spend her time at Court. Weir's cry had his head whipping around to face her, watching silently as she bellowed into the wild night - releasing the pent up energy given by the flashing lightning and rolling thunder. Reich grinned, a rumbling chuckle escaping his black lips.
"Let us hope we do so better than the last rulers."
i s o r a t h
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.
He is not the only one to heed the storm's call, her wild abandon drawing more and more to witness her in all her magnificent glory and be bathed in the purifying rains. Moths to the flame might have been an appropriate statement, or more akin to a tired and world weary traveler coming home to the arms of those who soothed their aches and whispered sweet nothings. Each thunderclap overhead reverberated in his chest, waking his bones and setting his nerves alight with each new chorus the skies sang.
For one glorious moment, the winged stallion of moonlight and gold could of closed his eyes and imagined he was not stood on this very cliff surrounded by strangers. Instead he was on the Balcony of Suns Reach witnessing the storm rolling off the western waters, the smell of rain mingling with the salt of the ocean as it soaked him to the marrow of his bones.
The newcomer's touch isn't rejected, but it took him by surprise. He had been so focused on the storm, even if an a delicate ear had flicked back to acknowledge the newcomers presence. It's friendly, gentle as the smile on their lips before they moved away, leaving the Kirin off-kilter for a moment. Not many dared to touch him, even in friendly greeting, instead choosing to simply stare and keep a polite distance. Except that one, levender eyes observed them as his thoughts reformed and his composure smoothed over. A snort is swallowed by the howling wind and he shifted in place, choosing not to linger on such a small thing. Instead, he focused on the kind words shared by the mare of smoke and mist, whose pink eyes reminded him of rose quartz at dawn and the Stallion whose visage reminded him of scorched earth. Copper of his coat veins of fire, or embers refusing to die in a bed of soot and ash. Handsome, forged of the very core of fire lord's domain with the night sky trapped in his mane. If he had known the Stallion's innerworkings, he might've laughed. A true laugh lighter than air and brighter than the suns rays at it's zenith, and soothed him with a lilted murmur that bewitching mares were not his tastes, but rather rugged stallions.
Reichenbach, a fitting name he mused, introduced him to the gathered and each one received a small nod. Lavender eyes illuminated in the glow of the lightning, betraying the glint which glittered within their startling gaze as he committed them all to memory. Weir, the mare with the pink eyes, turned out to be one of his own Court. "I'm Isorath, Sage of the Dusk Court." His tones were not as deep as Reichenbach's, but lilted instead. Like the moons song to the starlit waters beneath her ethereal form, or the whisper of smoke on skin as twilight crept to claim the day for the mistress of the night.
Any word's he might've spared Weir were silenced at her cry, his own head turning to watch her in a mixture of surprise and mirth. Her proclamation a grand thing, spoken daringly to the elements, a challenge to let them try and take the future from their hooves. What would the God's think, above in their lofty thrones, witnessing the gathering upon the cliffs. It certainly set the tone for the rest of Novus, the die had been cast now and the elements had been their witness. He blinked the rainwater from his eyes, head turned upwards to let the lightning illuminate his pale frame.
"I know we shall be better." He hummed to the darker stallion, amethyst eyes once again glinting as he regarded him. Ever so slowly, his wings lifted and fanned out, their pale visage held aloft for the wind to caress and the water to gather upon, and should the others want it, a reprieve from the rain that sought to soak them to their bones. Isorath cared little in that moment for his appearance and his own vanity, welcoming the rain without question to wrap him tight in it's embrace. His hair now twisted in wet curls against his pale neck, down over a scaled shoulder to barely touch the grass beneath his cloven hooves. His tail flicked the long water logged strands it carried in one ecstatic sweep the next moment, as another flash of lightning danced across the sky.
"Isorath talks."
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
some people are born with tornadoes in their lives,
but constellations in their eyes.
other people are born with stars at their feet,
but their souls are lost at sea.
- nikita gill
Thunder rolled and lightning crackled across the sky, sizzling in her blood like the sweet high of a drug. She was as wild and untamed as the cyclone swirling around them, pawing at the muddy earth in anticipation as the storm's song reached ever closer to it's crescendo. Half a thought of covering the trio with her wings passed her mind, but left as quickly as it came. They were storm-children; without fear and at peace in the madness of summer hurricanes.
The stormsinger blinked against the rain, her attention suddenly drawn away from the raging sea and to an almost glowing newcomer who had joined them. Where her king — Reichenbach — was dancing flames and woodsmoke, the stranger was ethereal and too bright; a shining beacon against the bruised clouds surrounding them. His appearance had her catching a breath with curiosity, azure eyes drawn to his wings and golden scales along his neck and body. The protector in her couldn't help but be wary; her body still angled in-between them and the Night King, her king. Not that she doubted he could protect himself.. but she sworn by duty, and something else that had her heart tightening with an unfamiliar sweetness and fire.
As another flash of light streaked across the sky, she noticed yet another stranger approaching them, their obsidian-dark and emerald coat illuminated momentarily. They called out, their words almost drowning amidst the drumming thunder above them and the crash of ocean waves far below them. Aislinn dipped her crown in greeting to them both, a playful smile on her lips as their group huddled together on the cliff top. Although the lovely striped mare answered, it was her king's rumbling voice that snatched her attention away.
Aislinn.
His mouth forming her name and breathing life to it had her poor little heart fluttering as he introduced them all. She gulped, equally elated and unsure of herself as she smiled and dipped her head at the mention of her name. A bellowed call ripped through to the storm from the pale mare — Weir, was her name — that had the stormsinger's chords aching to join her. She felt at home with these beautiful strangers; wickedly at peace with the chaos all around them. And she loved it. Craved for it.
Her ears flitted as she caught her newfound company's words; a talk of rulers old and new. She listened more at the tinkling of metal on metal as the coins draped around her neck — and the coins from his mane — fluttering in the angry wind. Without thinking, she had started to lean towards the radiating heat from his skin, her folded wing just barely brushing up against his shoulder. It was like a current of electricity from the sky burned in her body at the slightest touch; crinkling her eyes in a warm smile to try to hide her surprise.
Catching her voice, she chuckled, a bell-like sound that matched the music of the storm. "To us, then," she toasted to them all, raising her chin, "the stormchildren who will make this world better than we found it."
---
@Weir @Reichenbach
@isorath @seree
Thread inspired by this playist.
OOC:please excuse Ash because she doesn't know how to handle herself hehe
