11-03-2017, 04:47 PM
Kahvi
Differences make good sparks.
Motherhood was something her own mother wasn’t all too familiar with. A son was raised by her, but both her girls abandoned. The first as a mistake, but the second on purpose. Brooding and planning, but not caring. And some TLC - Tender Loving Care – is exactly what she needs.
It comes to her in the form of a dark and light tobiano mare. In reality she hadn’t managed to stumble further into Nerine far, but to a newborn, in every sense of the word, it feels like she has been walking for miles and miles. Her stomach is grumbling and not a scent except for her own clings to her frail body and her damp coat has her shivering, it makes the girl press up to the warm body that shields her from the wind and offers her some warmth. It’s pure instinct, just as the nervous system that has her chewing and licking.
The mare’s first question falls to deaf ears. Navy blue ears twist in the direction of where the sound comes from, but there is now way she’s able to process the words. Instead she nickers softly and her nostrils flare a little as she presses her muzzle closer, wanting to touch, needing it too.
A name? What was that? Did she have one? She didn’t know. Her gaze is on the mare’s features, almost if she’s waiting for what is coming next, and that she is expecting the tobiano to tell her. Or show her. So she nickers again, this time extending her neck to press the velvet of her nose against the side of the mare’s muzzle.
No-one would come. It would just be the two of them, the bay tobiano that had birthed the navy girl just shy of morning was already long gone.
It comes to her in the form of a dark and light tobiano mare. In reality she hadn’t managed to stumble further into Nerine far, but to a newborn, in every sense of the word, it feels like she has been walking for miles and miles. Her stomach is grumbling and not a scent except for her own clings to her frail body and her damp coat has her shivering, it makes the girl press up to the warm body that shields her from the wind and offers her some warmth. It’s pure instinct, just as the nervous system that has her chewing and licking.
The mare’s first question falls to deaf ears. Navy blue ears twist in the direction of where the sound comes from, but there is now way she’s able to process the words. Instead she nickers softly and her nostrils flare a little as she presses her muzzle closer, wanting to touch, needing it too.
A name? What was that? Did she have one? She didn’t know. Her gaze is on the mare’s features, almost if she’s waiting for what is coming next, and that she is expecting the tobiano to tell her. Or show her. So she nickers again, this time extending her neck to press the velvet of her nose against the side of the mare’s muzzle.
No-one would come. It would just be the two of them, the bay tobiano that had birthed the navy girl just shy of morning was already long gone.