12-21-2017, 03:42 PM
Babadook
Babadook has led a simple life until this moment. His days consist of exploring every inch of the wide circle his mother gives him, depending on the day, and his nights consist of sleeping curled between his mother’s feet as the predators sniff around them. He has no complicated friendships, with his companionship conserved between his mother and whatever assortment of woodland creatures he might play with throughout the day. The playground is exceptionally detailed and confusing compared to his minimalistic life, despite what Margaux might think.
So he slowly follows her, keeping his nose against her dainty rump as though breaking their connection might throw him into an endless void that might chew him up and spit him out as pulp. One older dark colt attempts to approach them, but Babadook avoids eye contact and shuffles around to Margaux’s opposite side — shy as a newborn fawn.
They reach the roots without a hitch afterword. Babadook is exceptionally aware of the overwhelming scent of her that marks the den beneath the overhanging roots and, despite himself, he inhales a large breath of it. She smells sweet and gentle, like the soft down of a baby rabbit mixed with the soothing aroma of spring flowers.
He acknowledges the seriousness of her pleading with a low nod of his head, but his mind is already pursuing other ideas. “You live here?” It isn’t an accusing tone (he can hardly judge her of anything, as he lives in the midst of the woods with the raccoons and squirrels) but a simple question, his dark eyes roving over the bedding. It looks comforting, especially when put together with the warmth of her personal scent. “Where’s your Mother?”
So he slowly follows her, keeping his nose against her dainty rump as though breaking their connection might throw him into an endless void that might chew him up and spit him out as pulp. One older dark colt attempts to approach them, but Babadook avoids eye contact and shuffles around to Margaux’s opposite side — shy as a newborn fawn.
They reach the roots without a hitch afterword. Babadook is exceptionally aware of the overwhelming scent of her that marks the den beneath the overhanging roots and, despite himself, he inhales a large breath of it. She smells sweet and gentle, like the soft down of a baby rabbit mixed with the soothing aroma of spring flowers.
He acknowledges the seriousness of her pleading with a low nod of his head, but his mind is already pursuing other ideas. “You live here?” It isn’t an accusing tone (he can hardly judge her of anything, as he lives in the midst of the woods with the raccoons and squirrels) but a simple question, his dark eyes roving over the bedding. It looks comforting, especially when put together with the warmth of her personal scent. “Where’s your Mother?”
@[Margaux]