With the aid she was growing steadier on her feet again, though it was a strange feeling, to sink so heavily into the ground. She felt the size of a boulder now, or a giant - though on the one hand it felt slow and ungainly and disappointing, it was pleasing to feel more substantial than she had in months.
She had also never expected to be grateful to have a body. She had grown up hating it, and all the perceptions of dreaded womanhood, but now it felt pleasantly familiar. Like putting on a worn old coat, with well-loved creased at the elbows and perhaps a hole in one of its pockets.
Porphyria was still more grateful to be able to feel a laugh in her cheeks - it had not been the same with a beak and those delicate bones. “Why on earth were you stealing her bowtruckles?” She exclaimed, already imagining the wild context of that story. Before she pressed him further, it appeared Arven had an inquiry of his own.
“Well...” she trilled, because it was not an easy choice. “I will miss the wings.” Flying on a broomstick or carpet had hardly the same effect, and for that reason alone she was jealous of her friend Amelia, for having an avian animagus form. She gave a musing grin. “That said, I shan’t miss being the size of a sickle,” Phyri said seriously. “Nor the threat of being eaten by predators!” She might have been cleverer than most wrens, but she had not caught up to their natural instincts on that note. “Oh! But their vision,” she gasped, blinking back the dullness of the world now, reduced to a pale imitation. That would take some getting used to again. “The world looks like an entirely different place.”
She had also never expected to be grateful to have a body. She had grown up hating it, and all the perceptions of dreaded womanhood, but now it felt pleasantly familiar. Like putting on a worn old coat, with well-loved creased at the elbows and perhaps a hole in one of its pockets.
Porphyria was still more grateful to be able to feel a laugh in her cheeks - it had not been the same with a beak and those delicate bones. “Why on earth were you stealing her bowtruckles?” She exclaimed, already imagining the wild context of that story. Before she pressed him further, it appeared Arven had an inquiry of his own.
“Well...” she trilled, because it was not an easy choice. “I will miss the wings.” Flying on a broomstick or carpet had hardly the same effect, and for that reason alone she was jealous of her friend Amelia, for having an avian animagus form. She gave a musing grin. “That said, I shan’t miss being the size of a sickle,” Phyri said seriously. “Nor the threat of being eaten by predators!” She might have been cleverer than most wrens, but she had not caught up to their natural instincts on that note. “Oh! But their vision,” she gasped, blinking back the dullness of the world now, reduced to a pale imitation. That would take some getting used to again. “The world looks like an entirely different place.”
a sublime set by Lady! <3