A calm falls over Popinjay at Lepis’ assurance that Aten will not try to eat Turul, the righteouesness that was rising inside her suddenly quelled and dipping back to more usual levels as she considers this. She nods once firmly, resolute, then opens her mouth to begin an onslaught of secondary questions which die on her tongue as Lepis looks into the forest and calls out. To who? She did not even know there was anyone there! Curious, the filly cranes her neck, following the mare’s gaze and nearly standing on tip-toe to see who has been spying on them.
At first there is nothing, and then, a crashing sound as ungainly legs carry the pale filly from her woodland bed and into the small clearing where Popinjay has been shamelessly assaulting Lepis with her queries. In the green light filtering through the trees, the white and silver coat almost seems to glow a gentle green, and when at last the other foal stands, the delicate fern fronds stroking at her belly as she embraces her dam, Popinjay does not immediately separate her from the plants. She snorts, incredulous, front feet drumming against the ground once, twice, before growing still. Her restlessness tells in her tail, which flicks and swishes endlessly, barely contained, while Celina joins her mother. Popinjay is leaning far enough forward to tip over when the other filly finally looks at her and Lepis’ voice releases her feet from the ground. She catches herself gracelessly, bounding forward, very close. Her breath comes deep, taking in the scent of dirt and foliage, and on its noisy exit from her nostrils, dislodges an evergreen needle still clinging to the other’s coat. Entirely too close.
“Hiareyouaplant?”
Because if her mom is a bird, the dark bay reasons, why can’t her daughter be a plant? This seems logical and Popinjay is content with her reasoning. Her attention is again grabbed by Lepis, leaning over Celina’s shoulder and suggesting they go find Barry Bushes. Dark eyes light up and she turns back to the other filly.
“Raspery? Rathbry? Rassssssssszzpbry. ” It’s much more fun to say than mulberry which sounds boring and studious, although, without teeth one can’t be certain that Celina’s pronunciation is quite correct. Popinjay’s certainly is not. She knows where the blueberries stand, but Barry Bushes was not there. Perhaps now she will find him, though how so new a foal could have come across someone she has been seeking for basically forever is harder to figure out. Nonetheless, she falls in place besides the younger filly, pressing her nose to her flank. Lead on!
At first there is nothing, and then, a crashing sound as ungainly legs carry the pale filly from her woodland bed and into the small clearing where Popinjay has been shamelessly assaulting Lepis with her queries. In the green light filtering through the trees, the white and silver coat almost seems to glow a gentle green, and when at last the other foal stands, the delicate fern fronds stroking at her belly as she embraces her dam, Popinjay does not immediately separate her from the plants. She snorts, incredulous, front feet drumming against the ground once, twice, before growing still. Her restlessness tells in her tail, which flicks and swishes endlessly, barely contained, while Celina joins her mother. Popinjay is leaning far enough forward to tip over when the other filly finally looks at her and Lepis’ voice releases her feet from the ground. She catches herself gracelessly, bounding forward, very close. Her breath comes deep, taking in the scent of dirt and foliage, and on its noisy exit from her nostrils, dislodges an evergreen needle still clinging to the other’s coat. Entirely too close.
“Hiareyouaplant?”
Because if her mom is a bird, the dark bay reasons, why can’t her daughter be a plant? This seems logical and Popinjay is content with her reasoning. Her attention is again grabbed by Lepis, leaning over Celina’s shoulder and suggesting they go find Barry Bushes. Dark eyes light up and she turns back to the other filly.
“Raspery? Rathbry? Rassssssssszzpbry. ” It’s much more fun to say than mulberry which sounds boring and studious, although, without teeth one can’t be certain that Celina’s pronunciation is quite correct. Popinjay’s certainly is not. She knows where the blueberries stand, but Barry Bushes was not there. Perhaps now she will find him, though how so new a foal could have come across someone she has been seeking for basically forever is harder to figure out. Nonetheless, she falls in place besides the younger filly, pressing her nose to her flank. Lead on!
Popinjay
She was not quite what you would call refined
@[Celina] it's fixed now. apparently i thought she was completely green all the time lol
