Emberwood mr. blue sky

AW. Possibly joining.

He didn’t have a set course—Akavir simply existed for the moment. The closer he got to the valley of his birth, the more apparent it became that the herds had thinned greatly. He could have turned back—should have, really. His parents had been reluctant to see him journey out once more, but he had assured them he would check back in.

He didn’t want to do it so soon, though, and it was that youthful and stubborn thought that had him coursing along the foothills of the mountain, tempted to stop by the creek to see how everyone was doing. Was Talos even still there? Would she even care to see him?

But a familiar scent pulled at his nose as he came upon a thick forest. Champagne eyes blinked as he made to place it—and then the memory of the dark Kavik came to mind. Pausing, Akavir considered what this meant, narrow flanks steering him in the direction to investigate.

Stopping at the borders, the Mayfair lowered his nose, taking in the scent of those that placed this as their home. Snow began to fall—greying the morning and beginning to cloak the boy’s silver and black frame. He waited still, his muzzle tipping back as he called for an audience.

The creator did not show a slight hint of pity as his ange déchu wept;
the false god rather ignored the sight, leaving lonely, purposeless, desolate. What could a man without airfoils to cradle him atop the raving gusts of the sky?
What is he meant to do?
Weep and wallow for eternity?

Fleeing the sight of his melancholy, the chestnut washed scout bore the winter in utter dprivement of feeling, perhaps the grappling cold would freeze his pumping blood and provide him strangled feeling. Then a call — and was it too him? 

No, but the ranger would assess the stranger at his border, grateful for purpose and an occupation to waste away the slow moving time of the near ending day. Hidden delight feuled his senses, but any onlooker could not tell the man help a gay disposition at the time. 

His aching pads guided him to a crisp colored male, his amber eyes striking the newcomer, the ange déchu snapped up from the undergrowth. "State you purpose at my border," as if it was truly his, a daunting hiss of false annoyance tainted his speak, investigating the body before him in wonder.