Wander was a good girl.
She followed mother who followed father, without fuss. No cries for milk or rest. Not until they came at last, to the pampas full of grass and sunshine. Only them, did she do what she was born to do best: wander.
High and low.
Near and far.
Or so it seemed, because it could feel like a hundred miles lay between one grassy knoll to the next.
That next knoll was exactly where she collapsed in a happy sleepy heap. Her head bent towards a nearby flower that she lipped at but was extremely careful not to pull a single petal from. The wisps of mane that promised to be a long wild forelock stuck up everywhere over her brow, between the two little screwy nubbins that promised to one day be big beautiful twisty horns.
Wander looked a sight in her dress of baby-fuzz fur that was apricot in color beneath the midnight-black of her hair. Yes, apricot - as in the fruit, beautiful and pale in her little hilly bed. She yawned as the flower leaned dangerously close to her open air-sucking mouth before she smacked her lips together and the flower snapped back to its original position, unharmed.
Napping sounded good and she was tired, but something in the marrow of her little bones told her she wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon. That meant no dreams of following the stream from start to finish, which she figured could take a good long while. So she rolled over onto her side and looked up at the sky with one eye sorta squinty and tried to guess at the shapes the clouds made as they moved lazily above her.
@[Pteron] word-vomit ❤️