07-29-2019, 05:32 PM
Quiet, shapeless daydreams have kept her still while Mama wanders, more like a fawn than a foal tucked into the thicket.
The sound of her mother’s call draws her away from the half-formed images, and Celina stands with a start. She blinks her sea-green eyes and shakes away bits of leaf and debris from the fuzz of her nursling’s mane. It takes a moment for her to rise – a combination of stiff muscles and newly learned skill. When she does, she is moving as quickly as she can, stumbling then leaping across the thick carpet of pine needles. Hitting her mother slows her down, and the collision is turned into an affectionate embrace with Celina’s striped neck wrapped around her mother’s leg.
A soft snort draws her attention away from the meal Celina had been contemplating. Her green eyes look up, and her flaring pink nostrils take in a scent that is neither Mama nor food.
She steps around her mother on thin silver legs, her small head titled curiously. Wings that will one day light her in flight are, for now, tucked tight and quite small against her sides, covered only in the lightest layer of downy gray feathers. Her eyes, a shade of seafoam green somewh3ere between her father’s olive and mother’s blue, blink curiously up at the older filly. A matching smile turns up the edges of her mouth, just enough to reveal gums that are still curiously toothless.
Celina has only met her members of her family before now, and a quick sniff tells her that this is neither Papa in one of his disguises nor the only brother she has yet to meet.
“Hi!” She says, just as Mama leans over her shoulder to say. “This is Popinjay. Why don’t you show her the berry bushes?”. This suggestion brings further delight to Celina’s young face. She is hungry after all, and berries were as good a meal as milk at this age. “Wanna go, Pop?” She shortens the name the first syllable, the only one that she is very sure she remembers. “Raspberry or mulberry?”
@[Popinjay]
The sound of her mother’s call draws her away from the half-formed images, and Celina stands with a start. She blinks her sea-green eyes and shakes away bits of leaf and debris from the fuzz of her nursling’s mane. It takes a moment for her to rise – a combination of stiff muscles and newly learned skill. When she does, she is moving as quickly as she can, stumbling then leaping across the thick carpet of pine needles. Hitting her mother slows her down, and the collision is turned into an affectionate embrace with Celina’s striped neck wrapped around her mother’s leg.
A soft snort draws her attention away from the meal Celina had been contemplating. Her green eyes look up, and her flaring pink nostrils take in a scent that is neither Mama nor food.
She steps around her mother on thin silver legs, her small head titled curiously. Wings that will one day light her in flight are, for now, tucked tight and quite small against her sides, covered only in the lightest layer of downy gray feathers. Her eyes, a shade of seafoam green somewh3ere between her father’s olive and mother’s blue, blink curiously up at the older filly. A matching smile turns up the edges of her mouth, just enough to reveal gums that are still curiously toothless.
Celina has only met her members of her family before now, and a quick sniff tells her that this is neither Papa in one of his disguises nor the only brother she has yet to meet.
“Hi!” She says, just as Mama leans over her shoulder to say. “This is Popinjay. Why don’t you show her the berry bushes?”. This suggestion brings further delight to Celina’s young face. She is hungry after all, and berries were as good a meal as milk at this age. “Wanna go, Pop?” She shortens the name the first syllable, the only one that she is very sure she remembers. “Raspberry or mulberry?”
@[Popinjay]