Hours had passed since the girl, all wobbly legged and exhausted, had broken through the tall grass and thick briars. Stepping one way and another, bounding when she could and allowing the spring steps to leap small sticks and branches- even rocks. Not so fragile as a newborn but not sure enough on her legs to suggest time spent walking, Briella fretted when she began to tumble and her small body crashed down to the hard dirt ground. Weakly she cried out, but there was no response from anyone and instead she was forced to bleat and to whimper, to pick herself up and begin again.
Thirst touches her lips and she finds herself glancing back to the strange brush that she’d wandered through. Wild roses and ceaseless vines all tangles in moss and stone and the plants were thick enough that as she turned and started back towards them: she bounced off and back, stumbling and staring at it- at them. “Let me back in.” she states, a leg thumping the ground and her ears pressed back. There is yield though, and she is unable to bridge the gap between where she had been and where she was now… and so, she frets and kicks- tries too, but mostly falls.
Thus she listens and hears the sound of something running, of a tumultuous force of nature she remembers but knows nothing about. Turning and walking she guides herself through the reaches of warrens and wilds, and all the way through the forests and meadows with a boldness and profound newness to the world: a naivety she is unable to hide. With that same attitude however, she approaches the river and the rushing water and sniffs: lowers her nose and touches the surface. Tentative and shivering at the cold she steps down from the bank and submerges her hoof, splashing and backing up as the current pulls.
Briella is fascinated, enticed and beguiled, her eyes blinking and without ceremony she lowers her head again but dunks her nose this time and tries to imitate the desire to drink as instinct drives her.
The filly jerks back, tumbles and snorts water, coughs and shakes her head as she gathers herself: a scowl dampening her expression. “Bad.” she says, weak and strained.
@[Dovev] / @[Toli]
Thirst touches her lips and she finds herself glancing back to the strange brush that she’d wandered through. Wild roses and ceaseless vines all tangles in moss and stone and the plants were thick enough that as she turned and started back towards them: she bounced off and back, stumbling and staring at it- at them. “Let me back in.” she states, a leg thumping the ground and her ears pressed back. There is yield though, and she is unable to bridge the gap between where she had been and where she was now… and so, she frets and kicks- tries too, but mostly falls.
Thus she listens and hears the sound of something running, of a tumultuous force of nature she remembers but knows nothing about. Turning and walking she guides herself through the reaches of warrens and wilds, and all the way through the forests and meadows with a boldness and profound newness to the world: a naivety she is unable to hide. With that same attitude however, she approaches the river and the rushing water and sniffs: lowers her nose and touches the surface. Tentative and shivering at the cold she steps down from the bank and submerges her hoof, splashing and backing up as the current pulls.
Briella is fascinated, enticed and beguiled, her eyes blinking and without ceremony she lowers her head again but dunks her nose this time and tries to imitate the desire to drink as instinct drives her.
The filly jerks back, tumbles and snorts water, coughs and shakes her head as she gathers herself: a scowl dampening her expression. “Bad.” she says, weak and strained.
@[Dovev] / @[Toli]