COLT
The familiar sound of a horse’s intentional blow has her twisting in her saddle, hat tipping against the glare of the rising sun, rather expecting to see a second one before her. It’s true, there is a horse, but no rider, and actually no horse at all—something far better and deserving of its own name.
”A pegasus?” she asks of the desert, features pulled back with a small, inescapable awe that finds her whenever she sees them, even if there’s a current of confusion so adamant it tries to wrestle the wonder away. ”Wh-what?” She twists back and forth in the saddle, throwing her sights around like someone would appear. It’s all too, placed.
The flap of the note rising and falling from the bone turned hitching post narrows Colt’s focus down. She nudges Biscuit closer, sliding out of the saddle with rein in hand to pluck up the paper. When she looks up, confusion and awe have both deepened, and for a moment she can only stand there in a stunned state of continued what?
The intention built into this is precise, made with a sort of private care that robs her of all the understanding she’s been laying down like pavement for her to walk on. Another shift of wing nearby is enough to jostle her thoughts back outward, and Colt blows out her own purposeful breath. ”Alright dove, let’s turn into some wind for the day, yeah?”
Biscuit is swapped from bit to halter, the latter still on beneath the former with all the traveling and camping that’s been happening. She’s tied up in reach of the pegasus’ hay and water, and Colt steadily works to exchange the two’s place.
The way it looks, she expects this pegasus is broke, but not about to let her balloon sail away, Colt approaches slow and practiced, beginning with a greeting and a hand before trying any manner of tacking up. The how one would tack up a pegasus is fortunately solved by the saddle she has on hand being the one Remi made for her, able to ensure a good fit no matter the back. As for the rider staying on, that’d still be up to her, but the original note did say smoother. A fact that her lips twitch at, a smile ghosting in before she can fight it back.
”A pegasus?” she asks of the desert, features pulled back with a small, inescapable awe that finds her whenever she sees them, even if there’s a current of confusion so adamant it tries to wrestle the wonder away. ”Wh-what?” She twists back and forth in the saddle, throwing her sights around like someone would appear. It’s all too, placed.
The flap of the note rising and falling from the bone turned hitching post narrows Colt’s focus down. She nudges Biscuit closer, sliding out of the saddle with rein in hand to pluck up the paper. When she looks up, confusion and awe have both deepened, and for a moment she can only stand there in a stunned state of continued what?
The intention built into this is precise, made with a sort of private care that robs her of all the understanding she’s been laying down like pavement for her to walk on. Another shift of wing nearby is enough to jostle her thoughts back outward, and Colt blows out her own purposeful breath. ”Alright dove, let’s turn into some wind for the day, yeah?”
Biscuit is swapped from bit to halter, the latter still on beneath the former with all the traveling and camping that’s been happening. She’s tied up in reach of the pegasus’ hay and water, and Colt steadily works to exchange the two’s place.
The way it looks, she expects this pegasus is broke, but not about to let her balloon sail away, Colt approaches slow and practiced, beginning with a greeting and a hand before trying any manner of tacking up. The how one would tack up a pegasus is fortunately solved by the saddle she has on hand being the one Remi made for her, able to ensure a good fit no matter the back. As for the rider staying on, that’d still be up to her, but the original note did say smoother. A fact that her lips twitch at, a smile ghosting in before she can fight it back.
Wild horse out the gate
Yeah your heart about to break
She the type of woman that gon' make you lose control
She something wild, you might need a lasso
Yeah your heart about to break
She the type of woman that gon' make you lose control
She something wild, you might need a lasso
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
