10-20-2018, 08:12 PM
There is still a moment of exasperation, of struggle and of consequence- her nostrils flaring the water dripping as she snorts and coughs. Unable to speak in the bursts of it, she is forced to wait until all her little lungs settle and she simple feels a great wetness on her snout. Shaken by the result she barely notices the sound of splashing, of anything remotely outside of her direct surrounding; but the voice grasps her attention more so, and the faint scent of blood, too, makes her look directly at the larger stallion.
“Pell…?” she states, questions more so, but fades off: those wide eyes staring at bone and blood and at the strange markings on his body with intrigue and childlike curiosity. “Not Pell.” she continues, her tiny ears flickering as listens and takes moments to decipher his very words. Scared as she was, it didn’t show, and she noted the pale bone covering his face and all the strangeness of him: reaching that tiny snout as he got closer and trying to tap the very bone on his face and to sniff.
Her voice is weak, and no doubt she herself is weak, the fragile body shaking and her spindly legs giving out at a point to allow her to tumble backwards into an awkward sitting position. “Momma?” she bleats, blinking and looking around suddenly. “Momma? No.” lacking the words for it, she understands the question but knows not how to answer and so she very suddenly slides down and lays on her side- tiny body flat and breath held as she looks up at him. Quieter, suddenly, and speaking with a softness that carried the hint of a sob. “Momma. This.” death is no mystery to her, and less now.
With unease she gets to her feet, scrambling and balancing as she can. The stockings dusty and dirt covered, and bits of bramble and nettle cling in the silvery mane and tail… no matter how short of puffy it was. He touches her and she freezes, but more so out of shock, her small head canting to the side and eyes peering at him with profound wonder. He asks questions, speaks, and she deciphers; but to Briella she is silently imitating words and sounds.
As if instinct she does walk, not away from him however, and steps around him with abandon to survey his belly and ribs: to peer and wander just a foot or so to the side to stare at the wild roses. Her gaze travels back and she notes what blood remained, and the color of the flowers, her tiny mind putting senseless things together and the coppery smell makes her wrinkle her nose before she steps back towards his and reaches up with intense unknowing.
“Briella.” she speaks, remembering the last words of the creature she’d left behind- the mare whose breath left her with a name just as the lights faded from her eyes. Recalling brief conversations with Expelliarmus, she strings words and sentences: begins to speak, or try to. “Ate, tried.” and to the point her head lowers, young teeth grasping at the grass and chewing before she swallowed the small mouthful: her ears flopping to the sides and small tail flicking as she scowled at the greenery. “Bluh.” it’s more of a sound than a word, and she looks to Dovev expectantly or at least with fixated attention.
“Not-Pell, who?” she asks, polite but loud, a fragile leg scratching the ground and her tiny frame drifting closer as she wanders up with little regard.
@[Dovev]
“Pell…?” she states, questions more so, but fades off: those wide eyes staring at bone and blood and at the strange markings on his body with intrigue and childlike curiosity. “Not Pell.” she continues, her tiny ears flickering as listens and takes moments to decipher his very words. Scared as she was, it didn’t show, and she noted the pale bone covering his face and all the strangeness of him: reaching that tiny snout as he got closer and trying to tap the very bone on his face and to sniff.
Her voice is weak, and no doubt she herself is weak, the fragile body shaking and her spindly legs giving out at a point to allow her to tumble backwards into an awkward sitting position. “Momma?” she bleats, blinking and looking around suddenly. “Momma? No.” lacking the words for it, she understands the question but knows not how to answer and so she very suddenly slides down and lays on her side- tiny body flat and breath held as she looks up at him. Quieter, suddenly, and speaking with a softness that carried the hint of a sob. “Momma. This.” death is no mystery to her, and less now.
With unease she gets to her feet, scrambling and balancing as she can. The stockings dusty and dirt covered, and bits of bramble and nettle cling in the silvery mane and tail… no matter how short of puffy it was. He touches her and she freezes, but more so out of shock, her small head canting to the side and eyes peering at him with profound wonder. He asks questions, speaks, and she deciphers; but to Briella she is silently imitating words and sounds.
As if instinct she does walk, not away from him however, and steps around him with abandon to survey his belly and ribs: to peer and wander just a foot or so to the side to stare at the wild roses. Her gaze travels back and she notes what blood remained, and the color of the flowers, her tiny mind putting senseless things together and the coppery smell makes her wrinkle her nose before she steps back towards his and reaches up with intense unknowing.
“Briella.” she speaks, remembering the last words of the creature she’d left behind- the mare whose breath left her with a name just as the lights faded from her eyes. Recalling brief conversations with Expelliarmus, she strings words and sentences: begins to speak, or try to. “Ate, tried.” and to the point her head lowers, young teeth grasping at the grass and chewing before she swallowed the small mouthful: her ears flopping to the sides and small tail flicking as she scowled at the greenery. “Bluh.” it’s more of a sound than a word, and she looks to Dovev expectantly or at least with fixated attention.
“Not-Pell, who?” she asks, polite but loud, a fragile leg scratching the ground and her tiny frame drifting closer as she wanders up with little regard.
@[Dovev]