Aziraphale draws a nice lungful of clean, dreamed-up fjord air. Lovely place for a canter! Which is fortuitous, since he seems to be decorated with a lovely new body, his regrettably naked torso growing from a good solid horse body - a Fell pony, if he is not mistaken, thick black-haired hooves standing firmly against the hard ground of the mountainside. And it's not just that, he realizes with a stretch - his wings are manifested, still the scruffy tawny mess they always are, but spanning broader and stronger than usual. Some sort of pegasus-centaur hybrid? How perfectly fanciful.
He makes a cursory effort to walk down the slant of the ground and is met with success - delightful, how much easier it is to move like this than if he'd been in his regular form. His wings extend outward, catching the air, and he gives a thoughtful flap. Could he fly like this? Shouldn't be possible - the amount of physics that has to be sidestepped just to get his regular form to fly is nothing compared to this body. But it's a dream, after all.
He adjusts his glasses, looking at the crystal water of the fjord with grave determination. He breaks into a trot, picking up a bit of speed, and then launches himself. He gasps a little, afraid that he's about to go tumbling like a multi-limbed fool, but no - he takes off magnificently, soaring through the air. His wings have never held up this much girth before, but they're doing fine, either with the odd logic of the new body or just with pure Rift-given dream magic. This is so strange, so completely enjoyable, that he can't help but laugh. He practices steering the unfamiliar bulk of his new body, skimming down over the water. What ridiculous fun. He hopes, distantly, that Crowley isn't here to see him like this.
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He makes a cursory effort to walk down the slant of the ground and is met with success - delightful, how much easier it is to move like this than if he'd been in his regular form. His wings extend outward, catching the air, and he gives a thoughtful flap. Could he fly like this? Shouldn't be possible - the amount of physics that has to be sidestepped just to get his regular form to fly is nothing compared to this body. But it's a dream, after all.
He adjusts his glasses, looking at the crystal water of the fjord with grave determination. He breaks into a trot, picking up a bit of speed, and then launches himself. He gasps a little, afraid that he's about to go tumbling like a multi-limbed fool, but no - he takes off magnificently, soaring through the air. His wings have never held up this much girth before, but they're doing fine, either with the odd logic of the new body or just with pure Rift-given dream magic. This is so strange, so completely enjoyable, that he can't help but laugh. He practices steering the unfamiliar bulk of his new body, skimming down over the water. What ridiculous fun. He hopes, distantly, that Crowley isn't here to see him like this.