The Academy: WTF!? They gave me a teaching license? (wyvern)

Though they add mirth to the chill of the air, warming it, when it touches against their skin, it is like the touch of a corpse. Was the winter jealous of the scholars as they speak? Was the wind envious of her closeness to someone’s body? Questions unanswered, mirroring him, she arches her neck, having to take a step forward to touch the same ivory pillar. It is smooth from the ware of time and weather, threatening to crumble under the pressure of her nose. Delicate vines trace up it’s ancient sides, till there is no father to go. It is a balance, a fragile one, easily manipulated, or destroyed. What was their purpose? What would she teach him?

He has faith in her. Couldn’t ask for a better teacher, he says. The words are embarrassing; she starts to say something, stutters, falls back to being quiet and is thankful that he keeps on talking. She watches him threw her long lashes, though she fights with the onset of her shyness, if only because,
this is Wyvern.

Just as she was his first friend, she wondered if he knew that he was the first stallion she has ever trusted. She smiles at the thought, and in that instance, her face in back to being open; in time to close back up as she falls into thought on his question, though she is quick to say, “You won’t be killing anyone!”, she sounds so shocked, it can’t help but be amusing. She knows he was kidding (or, well, she thinks so), but there would be no chances. And at the nose wrinkle, following her own words, she nipped at his cheek, right at the mandible, in a light, childish way, “Except, well, me, in self defense, if you don’t stop doing that!”

She can’t help but chuckle at herself, the sound low, but feminine despite it’s deep quality. She is happy, to see Wyvern like this. There is a weight off his back, and she can hear it in his voice, see it in his face, feel it in his eyes. This is where he should always be, yes, if it peels away the layers of burdens from his body.

Now, she leans against him. For support. It is in a platonic way; her weight shifting, her forehead rested against the saltiness of his mane, eyes closed against the wave of gold as she talks, “I didn’t know.”, she speaks softly, but sincerely, “The wind picked me. We think we pick our elements but I don’t believe it.”, another smile, though he wouldn’t be able to see it, “though it’s still pretty cool.”

She is thinking again, for a second, then,
“Close your eyes, Wyvern. What do you feel? Right now?”

magnolia

***
Ambassador of the range

Apprentice to the Seers

Sister to the Air