COLT
Colt has found height on Skyships and floating realms, but none of those feel quite like this—like belonging. Nestled in the sway of a wooden hull, she has always felt like a visitor to the sky that could be cast aside easily, as if unwelcome, but tolerated. She finds herself ever restless on the ships, waiting for them to catch the breeze and right the horizon line with hands that don't belong to her. Astride a winged horse however, mane wrapped around her fingers and power rolling beneath her on a current of muscle and hide, it feels like she's joined the wind. There's no separation of being in this state; it's not her wings catching thermals, not her hooves skimming clouds, but it might as well be. Together, they do more than move, they fly, and it feels like blurring into the sky itself. Losing all sense of self, like this, almost feels right.
The day spools out into something tireless and wonderful as they continue aloft over the sprawl of the world. Just as breath moves in and out, the moments ebb, rolling between practical and awed. Colt loses herself to the design of the future and the present. She sketches out the different landscapes that melt away beneath them, arguing with wind in a glorious way that feels like friendship rather than conflict. She slumps over the shimmering neck, palms sliding low to the chest and holding the mare like her fingers have the strength to keep the impossible, despite all the past proof they don't.
As the day darkens, her mapmaking complete and tucked away in her packs, they laze into the dusk. She reaches out, trying to skim the starlight as they retrace their route back, racing the threat of dawnlight amid the rich velvet of midnight. A day she had been given, and she'd not squander the night, content to wing about until the hours were all well and truly spent. She forgets the snacks and the water she's packed, fed instead with wind and wonder, and as they land back where they began amid the haze of first, fresh light, Colt is gloriously full.
She slides away with no hint of grace, stumbling as her boots reclaim sand, her body almost seeming to recoil from it when the cradle of wind had been all she'd known for some time. She sighs, contented, and leans, sleep-deprived (and all the better for it), against the saddle and the slow motion of the mare's flank. With the slow ceremony of knowing something is ending, Colt undoes the tack, putting it back on Biscuit. Two, pale flight feathers adorn Colt's hat, grabbed before the desert and the breeze steal them away. Something to remind her that this was more than a dream.
"Thank you," she murmurs as she gently strokes the pegasus' neck, sliding off the halter as the last bit of the hours tick over and the gift spends itself out into a breathless laugh of joy, the only way to watch a pegasus rejoin the sky, even if it's without her now.
[FIN]
The day spools out into something tireless and wonderful as they continue aloft over the sprawl of the world. Just as breath moves in and out, the moments ebb, rolling between practical and awed. Colt loses herself to the design of the future and the present. She sketches out the different landscapes that melt away beneath them, arguing with wind in a glorious way that feels like friendship rather than conflict. She slumps over the shimmering neck, palms sliding low to the chest and holding the mare like her fingers have the strength to keep the impossible, despite all the past proof they don't.
As the day darkens, her mapmaking complete and tucked away in her packs, they laze into the dusk. She reaches out, trying to skim the starlight as they retrace their route back, racing the threat of dawnlight amid the rich velvet of midnight. A day she had been given, and she'd not squander the night, content to wing about until the hours were all well and truly spent. She forgets the snacks and the water she's packed, fed instead with wind and wonder, and as they land back where they began amid the haze of first, fresh light, Colt is gloriously full.
She slides away with no hint of grace, stumbling as her boots reclaim sand, her body almost seeming to recoil from it when the cradle of wind had been all she'd known for some time. She sighs, contented, and leans, sleep-deprived (and all the better for it), against the saddle and the slow motion of the mare's flank. With the slow ceremony of knowing something is ending, Colt undoes the tack, putting it back on Biscuit. Two, pale flight feathers adorn Colt's hat, grabbed before the desert and the breeze steal them away. Something to remind her that this was more than a dream.
"Thank you," she murmurs as she gently strokes the pegasus' neck, sliding off the halter as the last bit of the hours tick over and the gift spends itself out into a breathless laugh of joy, the only way to watch a pegasus rejoin the sky, even if it's without her now.
[FIN]
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.
