His feet were tired. He’d rather failed to realize exactly how much walking was involved in well…walking. Moodily the young stallions shuffled his wings, and winced. The glossy and well-tended wings were his most powerful asset, probably the single strongest part of him. He relied upon them for his speed, and his ability to locate his wayward relative. Not to mention, he was actually good at flying. On the ground he tended to find himself discovering clumsiness. In the air he could do almost anything, he spent most of his time in flight and apparently chasing hither and yon through the clouds after his cousin had gotten him all manner of practice. And it showed, in the strength and size of his white wings…and also in the way he was currently all but dragging through the hills right now. Gently rolling and covered in soft green grass they might be, but going up a ‘gently rolling’ slop was still uphill. Oh how much more quickly this would have gone if he had been airborne.
Of course, he probably could have flown all the same. But he was hurt from Pure’s latest ‘whoops-I-guess’ and naturally it would be his wing that had taken the brunt of the damage. One of these days he was going to just give up at let the angry brother, mate, boyfriend, father, what-have-you, just kick Pure’s silly, empty little head in. Maybe. Possibly. …unlikely. His aunt would be devastated if he came home sans her only son to tell her the idiot had finally gotten himself done in. And then his mother would be cross at him for it. As if it were his fault Pure got himself into trouble like this. Pure was older than he was! Why couldn’t he at least act somewhat nearer to his age? Why did it not strike him as odd that his younger relative had been asked to babysit him? WHY.
“Rotten ungrateful airheaded little…” Cleite muttered, pausing for a minute to tap a hind-hoof against the ground. Something stung, did he step on a pebble? Or a bee? A bee would just figure, but he rather thought he would have notice a beesting. Certainly he’d have heard the angry buzz. Nothing seemed to happen when he tapped his hoof though, and a ginger test proved that he could still walk on it. It didn’t feel damaged, it just felt like he’d stepped on something that didn’t appreciate being stepped on. Wonderful. When he caught up to Pure he was going to give him a piece of his mind. If only it were possible to do so literally. Maybe it could do the thinking for him. Certainly he'd like to give his cousin the part with the headache, especially since Pure was the one causing it.
Well. At least on foot it was easier to see the tracks the rotten womanizing idiot had left behind. Over the hills...and then down through the woods? Well it was harder to give him the slip when he was this close to the ground. His tail swishing irritably behind him, Cleite pressed on, slowly shaking off the small limp from the pebble or whatever it had been. When he caught up to Pure…maybe this time the silly creature would listen to him. Maybe. If he acquired enough volume. It could be possible.
