Ouroboros

Virga... You hear the footsteps before you hear the voice. Your thoughts may wander, but they never wander far enough to pull you from the immediacy of your surroundings. The danger of the Rift. One ear cocks back, but you don't turn until the stranger speaks. His voice is... well, not threatening. Calm, maybe. Articulate. An impression: Blue, but not the blue of ice or of the sky. Now, you turn. All in one fluid motion: weight rocking back, forehooves pivoting around. They rise up in one place and land lightly in another. The truncated wings at your sides flare briefly to correct your balance, and then you are facing him. Head up, nostrils flaring. He doesn't smell familiar. He doesn't look familiar, and your eyes narrow as they travel from his face down the rest of him, noting only briefly the sweep of his antlers, the bright green of his eyes. Your own horn is a killing weapon; his are not. Your wings fold again with a snap. Breath plumes, thick and white, into your whiskers. "Fine." Your ears twist: back, forward, back again. Not pinned but enough to suggest a frown. You wonder if this man is Riftian. You wonder what it means if he is. If you should kill him. You don't particularly feel like expending the effort right now. You don't appreciate being interrupted, either, though. Did he overhear you talking to yourself? (to the moon) Does he know what you are? You think not. "What do you want?" You grind out after a while. What you mean is less polite: Why are you interrupting me? But a long time ago, your parents taught you some kind of manners, and some of them even stuck. light shines brighter in the dark

littlewillow-art

@Rixen :D