She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot. [any] - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: OOC (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=24) +--- Forum: Archive (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=81) +---- Forum: Adoption Den (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=6) +---- Thread: She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot. [any] (/showthread.php?tid=24237) |
She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot. [any] - Popinjay - 07-07-2019 Popinjay was born late in the season, the frost was already beginning to gather on the grass when she opened her eyes to the world. And it was a big world, although she didn’t know it. Then it had seemed very small, only her, and the great warmth of her mother. She had been licked clean until the blood smell had dissipated, and then she began the arduous task of standing.
It took her her entire life to stand.
Or anyway, it felt that way. When you’ve only known the world to exist for an hour, a few minutes can certainly seem like your entire life. Mostly because it has been.
Now, that time is already fading, dark but warm, the taste of milk on her tongue, the smell of blood and horses strong around her, and the husky nickering of her dam. No detail, only flashes of out of focus memory. She remembers they did not stay there long but soon moved, if slowly, to another area. This area she cannot recall at all except that there were more horses that pushed close around her.
It is not much to carry with her, this light load of memories, and how she came to be here is a great mystery. She did not remember magic from before, but what rules does magic follow that it cannot have touched her world and stolen her away? She’s alone now, and that is the only detail that comes sharp and clear.
She is small, even by foal standards, light-boned and delicate, with short ears and large eyes. She is dark, the brown of her coat nearly black, so that the large star on her brow seems to glow in the early morning light. As she borders the edge of the small clearing, she is little more than a slip of shadow, flitting at the treeline, cautious. And then, suddenly, she squeals and bounds forward, springing high and kicking out as though reluctant to remain grounded. There is abandon in her way of running.
When she reaches the center of everything, Popinjay comes to a noisy halt and thrusts her head high into the air, taking in her surroundings. Have they changed during her dash? Not appreciably. She relaxes, lets her nose dip to a more natural height.
hm-hm-hmm ta-duh duh dumm
Sing-song nonsense escapes her lips and she casts about for something to do. A small bit of wood catches her attention and she grabs it between new teeth. It is light and smooth from ages in the water and, like a dog, she shakes her head, twisting her neck to feel the weight of it.
THWACK!
Popinjay drops her toy and leaps away, startled. Eyes widened and focused. A rock! She watches it suspiciously. Just where had that come from? Small nostrils widen, drawing breath, waiting for the rock to move, to show some sign that it could do so. Nothing of the sort happens and, slowly, the filly creeps forward with bent knees, ready to spring back to safety at a moments notice. One step, two steps, three, nothing. She is close enough to touch now and reaches out, pressing her nose against the cool, grainy surface. Still nothing. And then, she licks it.
It tastes like dirt.
RE: She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot. [any] - Izora Lethia - 07-07-2019 forget me not; but never remember Lethy @[Popinjay] RE: She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot. [any] - Popinjay - 07-08-2019 The dirt sticks to her tongue and leaves a strike of red clay across her nose. She is looking close for bugs hiding in the moss when the golden mare approaches, and does not really notice her at first, absorbed in the task at hand. But there aren’t any insects, no centipedes or roly-polies, they are sleeping away the winter under leaves and logs. What fun is that? Her nose wrinkles in distaste, and then a voice, soft, motherly, comes from above like bells singing. Popinjay freezes a moment, silent, breaking when lips touch her forelock. Tail up! Head up! Ears back! She squeals and strikes at the ground with a small forehoof, crouching low for a moment before leaping away. Up, up! There is higher ground available, boulders that have rolled together and gathered a millenia of soil, leaves, moss. Nimbly, more or less, she finds her way to the top of the nearest of these, and there she fixes dark eyes on the mare who calls herself Lethy, sides puffing and tail flipped up and over, the hairs curling against her haunches. The small rise of earth and stone puts her closer to eye level, nearly above it. It’s safer, up high, and with an unreasonable quickness, her attitude changes, bright again. “Popinjay!” she shouts That was probably not loud enough. “Pop-Pop-Pop POPJay!” With each syllable she twists her neck, emphatically turning her head side to side, with a final crowhop at the very endest of ends, little feet clattering rhythmically. "Do you have snacks?" Popinjay ......... RE: She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot. [any] - Izora Lethia - 07-09-2019 forget me not; but never remember Lethy @[Popinjay] RE: She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot. [any] - Popinjay - 07-09-2019
Delighted, Popinjay jumps back down to earth, landing in an ungainly pile of limbs that seem to knot together before falling away from each other and lifting her back into the air. That was a big jump! She is very brave! Arching her neck, the filly prances chin to chest as she follows Lethy dutifully. She had said there would be snacks. Who doesn’t like snacks? While the grass is being unearthed, Popinjay stops, large eyes glittering and ears so forward they might fall off. After a few strokes of Lethy’s hoof, the greenery springs up from underneath like a Jack-In-The-Box. That looks like fun. Mimicking the mare’s movement, Popinjay begins digging as well, through snow, through grass, through dirt. More dirt! The ground is less frozen here than where she came from or she could never accomplish it. Again, she presses her nose into the soil. Paw-paw-press-snort! Paw-paw-press-snort! She has completely forgotten the purpose until Lethy reminds her, and, tail flapping merrily, she chews rigorously on the fibrous grass listening to the Tale of Large Barry Bushes. Should she know who that is? It’s a short tale, anyway, which is just as well, because Popinjay’s attention span is also very short today. Forgetting that they are here to eat - was she ever even hungry? - she drops lightly to earth, legs folded neatly beneath her and a mouthful of half-chewed grass held shredded and wet between small teeth, frayed ends dangling forlornly from her lips. “Ah blah-bah-beh! Mleh!” Tossing her muzzle up and down, she opens her mouth, fat pink tongue shoving the remaining grass out in wads that hit the ground, her knees, the rocks. She does not look to see if they hit Lethy, but the end of Barry’s story comes with an offer to go see him and it draws her back. ”Yes, yes! I want to go meet Barry Bushes!” Popinjay ......... if you'd like to continue this elsewhere, I'm game RE: She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot. [any] - Izora Lethia - 07-11-2019 forget me not; but never remember Lethy @[Popinjay] I will try to get a starter up on Taiga soon. *I apologize in advance, I suck at starters. |