10-12-2017, 07:26 AM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The idea of being motherly is startling. He would probably break her, Ivar thinks – she looks very fragile with her thin legs and spindly figure. It’s a marvel she’s made it this far, really; she would make an ideal meal for one of Beqanna’s rare predators. Well, perhaps not so rare. Still, she gives him little time to be concerned, having brushed off his worry in favor of the proposed trip to the cave. At least he can watch her while they’re in Loess, he decides; if she gets eaten on her way back to the River…well, that blame would lay on her actual mother. “I’m not your mamma,” Says the piebald stallion, rolling his eyes in exasperation. The teal filly is jesting, he knows, but the term still feels uncomfortable, like a dangling noose he has only just managed to avoid. (If only he knew, that in a few short days he’d willingly offer to hang himself.) “You’ve got to be quiet,” He adds, quickening his pace to trot abreast of the girl. “Otherwise you’ll scare them too early.” He clamps his scaled muzzle shut at that last word, emphasizing his silence as he begins to slow his pace. The cave mouth stretches ahead of them, and there are soft peeps of slowly waking bats. They’ll grow louder until they spread out into the sky, and Ivar knows that they’ve arrived at the perfect time. Lowering his head, he whispers into Celest’s ear, his muzzle barely brushing the brightly colored stands of her hair. “Now you’ve gotta yell. Loud as you can.” |