10-02-2021, 11:14 PM
The yearling is heavy for her age, thick-bodied and well-muscled, and the black wings at her sides only accentuate the bulk of her, but they are useful for covering her half-blazed face when she sleeps. She sleeps soundly and is rarely disturbed (who would wake a sleeping bear?) so it is not without a little confusion that she loses her grip on sleep and finds herself pondering an odd patch of the woods.
She rises with particular care. Beechbone knows well her own strength and the damage caused by a recklessly placed hoof. The girl wears caution across her face, but none of it is for the dangers of the woods at night, only for the worry that she will step on something small and soft, something that will die beneath her horrible, large hooves in a terrible instant. There are no animals around, though, the woodland beasts are wiser than the shadowy figures she can see of other horses milling among the trees. The mice are all well away from here.
(A hundred times a day she wishes to be smaller, lighter, less accidentally powerful. What she wouldn't do to not wear her power so obviously, so heavily, upon her body. What she wouldn't give to be a mouse instead.)
As if hearing her silent desire, the forest wraps itself around her, gifting her the costume she wished for so desperately. A grey and pink fleece onesie sits baggily upon her, its long pink tail hanging limp. The glued-on whiskers itch and the teeth make her lisp, but something is missing.
No ears?
The earless mouse squints into the shadows as she enters the forest until she sees an opalescent mare donning mouse ears - and only mouse ears.
"Ethcuthe me," she says to @Rare, her voice hushed and as careful as her steps, "I think you are wearing part of my cothtume."
She rises with particular care. Beechbone knows well her own strength and the damage caused by a recklessly placed hoof. The girl wears caution across her face, but none of it is for the dangers of the woods at night, only for the worry that she will step on something small and soft, something that will die beneath her horrible, large hooves in a terrible instant. There are no animals around, though, the woodland beasts are wiser than the shadowy figures she can see of other horses milling among the trees. The mice are all well away from here.
(A hundred times a day she wishes to be smaller, lighter, less accidentally powerful. What she wouldn't do to not wear her power so obviously, so heavily, upon her body. What she wouldn't give to be a mouse instead.)
As if hearing her silent desire, the forest wraps itself around her, gifting her the costume she wished for so desperately. A grey and pink fleece onesie sits baggily upon her, its long pink tail hanging limp. The glued-on whiskers itch and the teeth make her lisp, but something is missing.
No ears?
The earless mouse squints into the shadows as she enters the forest until she sees an opalescent mare donning mouse ears - and only mouse ears.
"Ethcuthe me," she says to @Rare, her voice hushed and as careful as her steps, "I think you are wearing part of my cothtume."