“No, silly, not the wind!” she exclaims, unaware of (or perhaps simply untroubled by) any social contract that might have declared such an answer improper. She does not say it harshly, but loudly enough that there is a hint of disappointment in her tone, the faintest trace of exasperation.
“Listen!” She rolls her shoulders again and the leaves on her body rustle a third time.
If the girl had heard it the first or second time, Holocene is unaware of it. She will do whatever it takes to ensure that the white filly is hearing exactly what the leaf-covered girl wants her to hear. Or she’ll get thoroughly distracted by something else and forget that she herself had ever marveled at the sound, only to repeat the process again within the hour.
Just as she is distracted by the little winking lights that the winged filly calls stars but are really just little bugs. Holocene stars at them, wide-eyed, her mouth partially open. She wants to take one in her mouth to see if it will make her glow from the inside out, but she doesn’t want to hurt the little bugs so she refrains. She contents herself with marveling at them from afar instead.
“They’re amazing!” she cries. She had not known little bugs could generate that much light. “Do they just follow you around?”
She shifts her focus back to the girl and feels her chest swell with pride. She sucks in a sharp breath and the sudden swell of her ribcage makes the leaves rustle again.
“My dad made me,” she announces, quite proudly, which is not entirely true but she likes to believe it is. “He loves plants, so he made me like a plant!”
@[Elegance]