07-27-2019, 10:23 PM
Popinjay has been playing in a small clearing, shaking sticks and tearing at ferns as they unfurl with sparkling white, if small, teeth. The fiddleheads are alright, but the mature leaves taste odd and she spits them back out, messily, on the moss covered rocks. Aten sent Turul after her, and she knows that he is something of a baby-sitter, but also that he cannot actually stop her, if she’s fast enough, and so she does not mind. Besides, the gyrfalcon is apt to join her play, as long as she minds her hooves.
She spent a portion of the day hunting rabbits for Turul, a task for which she was ill-equipped, and so, was a spectacular failure. The rabbits no longer had any particular trust in the small foal and though they were also not terribly threatened by her, they moved off quickly when she came into view.
Harumph!
It just didn’t seem like it should be that hard! The weasels and grey foxes do it, and they are even smaller than her! And she is definitely just as sneaky as them! The filly shakes her head, curled forelock bouncing against the bright star on her forehead that gleams in the late day light that hits it, and finally lays down in a huff, legs curled beneath her while she chews on the first hardy grasses greening underfoot. They taste green and bright after the dull, dead, feed that they have been eating for most of winter.
When Lethy’s call comes, bright and beckoning, Popinjay finds that she has been dozing lightly, and she returns it with a sleepy whinny that bounces between the trees and seems to come back at her from everywhere and nowhere. She rises and stretches, arching her neck first, then stepping forward and extending each back leg behind her. One. Two. Then her back hunches, she crowhops forward, and lands in a ground eating trot that takes her closer to the mare and colt.
It is not a long trip, she had not gone too very far, and her dark eyes find the golden mare quickly, accustomed to her shape. At first she does not notice the smaller buckskin colt, her attention taken by judging the emotions of the small meadow, but when she judges all to be calm, she moves in closer, gaze alighting on him all at once. She skips forward to the new colt, thrusting her nose against his in greeting.
They are several months apart and where she is rounded muscle and fat, he is all angles and long legs, still unfolding, but their heights are not terribly disparate. It is becoming quickly apparent that Popinjay will not be tall in her maturity, but, for now, she is practically a giant in height and body score compared to the colt.
"Hello!"
She spent a portion of the day hunting rabbits for Turul, a task for which she was ill-equipped, and so, was a spectacular failure. The rabbits no longer had any particular trust in the small foal and though they were also not terribly threatened by her, they moved off quickly when she came into view.
Harumph!
It just didn’t seem like it should be that hard! The weasels and grey foxes do it, and they are even smaller than her! And she is definitely just as sneaky as them! The filly shakes her head, curled forelock bouncing against the bright star on her forehead that gleams in the late day light that hits it, and finally lays down in a huff, legs curled beneath her while she chews on the first hardy grasses greening underfoot. They taste green and bright after the dull, dead, feed that they have been eating for most of winter.
When Lethy’s call comes, bright and beckoning, Popinjay finds that she has been dozing lightly, and she returns it with a sleepy whinny that bounces between the trees and seems to come back at her from everywhere and nowhere. She rises and stretches, arching her neck first, then stepping forward and extending each back leg behind her. One. Two. Then her back hunches, she crowhops forward, and lands in a ground eating trot that takes her closer to the mare and colt.
It is not a long trip, she had not gone too very far, and her dark eyes find the golden mare quickly, accustomed to her shape. At first she does not notice the smaller buckskin colt, her attention taken by judging the emotions of the small meadow, but when she judges all to be calm, she moves in closer, gaze alighting on him all at once. She skips forward to the new colt, thrusting her nose against his in greeting.
They are several months apart and where she is rounded muscle and fat, he is all angles and long legs, still unfolding, but their heights are not terribly disparate. It is becoming quickly apparent that Popinjay will not be tall in her maturity, but, for now, she is practically a giant in height and body score compared to the colt.
"Hello!"
Popinjay
She was not quite what you would call refined
