04-25-2018, 11:12 PM
She affirms that she is a mother, but then says her son didn’t hatch from an egg. Shocked, unable to contemplate how that could even be, the little pegasus whirls around, blinks, and circles back to the dark-colored mare with an openly curious look. “But if he didn’t hatch from an egg, where did he come from?” He’s blissfully unaware of the intricacies of the body and how babies are made, so he doesn’t know what kind of can or worms he might have opened.
Thankfully, his attention span is short, so Amorette only has to come up with the most cursory excuse before he’s off to the rock and the feather, bringing it back for her inspection. He puffs up to his full (not so tall) height when she praises him, but runs into logistical problems when she asks about how the feather smells, because he can’t sniff it and carry it at the same time. Another blink of his big green eyes and he comes up with a solution; he tosses the feather into the air and then half-rears to thrust his nose after it, inhaling deeply. Unfortunately when he inhales, the feather is sucked in and stuck to his nostrils. A startled snort and exhale makes it flutter up again, and then he inhales and it’s stuck – this cycle repeats a couple of times before he nearly trips over his own feet and it falls to the ground, and he turns to her with another giggle. “Yeah, it smells like them. Momma, I think.”
Grye glances regretfully at the feather but he’s realized he can’t carry it and talk, so he leaves it behind. Presumably, mommy has more – as many as he has fluffy wing-feathers of his own. She investigates the rock herself and declares the sent fresh, and they strike out a new direction he’s assuming means something to her. A chirruping sound distracts him, and he darts off, barely hearing the question. The frog escapes, of course, so he trots back and considers the question with a little frown before asking tentatively, “What’s a ‘day’?”
Thankfully, his attention span is short, so Amorette only has to come up with the most cursory excuse before he’s off to the rock and the feather, bringing it back for her inspection. He puffs up to his full (not so tall) height when she praises him, but runs into logistical problems when she asks about how the feather smells, because he can’t sniff it and carry it at the same time. Another blink of his big green eyes and he comes up with a solution; he tosses the feather into the air and then half-rears to thrust his nose after it, inhaling deeply. Unfortunately when he inhales, the feather is sucked in and stuck to his nostrils. A startled snort and exhale makes it flutter up again, and then he inhales and it’s stuck – this cycle repeats a couple of times before he nearly trips over his own feet and it falls to the ground, and he turns to her with another giggle. “Yeah, it smells like them. Momma, I think.”
Grye glances regretfully at the feather but he’s realized he can’t carry it and talk, so he leaves it behind. Presumably, mommy has more – as many as he has fluffy wing-feathers of his own. She investigates the rock herself and declares the sent fresh, and they strike out a new direction he’s assuming means something to her. A chirruping sound distracts him, and he darts off, barely hearing the question. The frog escapes, of course, so he trots back and considers the question with a little frown before asking tentatively, “What’s a ‘day’?”
Grye
Olivier x Dagny