04-08-2020, 08:20 PM
The sharpness in the black mare's voice grabs at her ear, but she shakes it off with a flick, unbothered by the irritation that laces through her words. Popinjay has never been terribly concerned with the moods of others, and now is no exception. She turns again to the bone thing with something akin to a frown, as if to say too bad and then she looks to the Son of Ripley as he strains to hold himself together against the churning of his foreign instincts. Her head cocks to one side, dark eyes glisteningly wetly in the bit of light that eludes the forest's reaching branches.
She has never been one to turn down a race, either, but it does not seem like the kind of run that he is offering. Her thoughts turn to questioning but the giant bird within her stirs restlessly, resisting, a screeching warning tumbling across the sky within her foolish head. What little that seal bay knows of caution brings a solemnity to her usual zeal and a stillness to her merry hooves. She does not, however, follow his advice. She has never been very good at that, and the pair before her are so different from anyone she has met before that now seems like no time to start.
Stupid girl.
She does, however, leave a significant space between herself and the stallion, never mind how desperately she wishes to press her nose to that smooth-looking skin and know whether he feels hard like the shell of the stag beetles she so well remembers from Taiga, or if the smoothness gives to pressure, like on apple's flesh, soft beneath the tough, taut skin. She touches neither Bones nor Beetle, and wears a significant pout upon her lips that is belied only by the sharp and watchful eye tracing deftly between the swing of his tail and the eager lullaby of the raven mare's crooning.
No way is she leaving now, to miss this dance between them.
She has never been one to turn down a race, either, but it does not seem like the kind of run that he is offering. Her thoughts turn to questioning but the giant bird within her stirs restlessly, resisting, a screeching warning tumbling across the sky within her foolish head. What little that seal bay knows of caution brings a solemnity to her usual zeal and a stillness to her merry hooves. She does not, however, follow his advice. She has never been very good at that, and the pair before her are so different from anyone she has met before that now seems like no time to start.
Stupid girl.
She does, however, leave a significant space between herself and the stallion, never mind how desperately she wishes to press her nose to that smooth-looking skin and know whether he feels hard like the shell of the stag beetles she so well remembers from Taiga, or if the smoothness gives to pressure, like on apple's flesh, soft beneath the tough, taut skin. She touches neither Bones nor Beetle, and wears a significant pout upon her lips that is belied only by the sharp and watchful eye tracing deftly between the swing of his tail and the eager lullaby of the raven mare's crooning.
No way is she leaving now, to miss this dance between them.
Popinjay
She was not quite what you would call refined
I apologize for not being in a rush to post, please feel free to attack or ignore her at your leisure. @[Stalag]
