06-30-2021, 07:21 PM
sickle
She hadn’t thought to look up at all, or look for a nest or even look around for a mom bird angrily staring at her waiting for her to move. She’s too busy focused on the little hatchling that’s almost fully out of its shell to notice the colt beside her look up and examine the tree - and without help, she likely will not think about where the egg would have come from at all. It is simply there, and the fact that it matches her so well is obviously a sign.
She’s distracted from watching the little creature finish emerging from its shell by the colt’s question and she looks up - but it’s just to stare off into space as she considers it. “Uhhh… little orange ones. Like hummingbirds? I’ve only seen them once. There’s lots of other colourful birds though...” In fact, the jungle was full of them. She’s pretty sure whatever this creature is, it’ll feel at home in the jungle. And maybe her mom will know what to do with it.
That thought, because of course Wishbone will have the answers, solidifies things and she glances down at the now-chirping baby bird and nods. “Well, I guess it’s mine now.”
Sickle says this with finality, as though she has some (or any) authority.
This presents new problems though - and though the first one should be ‘what will it eat’ and maybe the second one is ‘how will I carry it back home’, neither of these are the questions that she speaks. Something far more important comes to her mind first. “What should I name it?” And then she turns to the colt, realizing she’s just asked for name ideas from someone who she hasn’t even been introduced to yet! “Hey, what’s your name?"
She’s distracted from watching the little creature finish emerging from its shell by the colt’s question and she looks up - but it’s just to stare off into space as she considers it. “Uhhh… little orange ones. Like hummingbirds? I’ve only seen them once. There’s lots of other colourful birds though...” In fact, the jungle was full of them. She’s pretty sure whatever this creature is, it’ll feel at home in the jungle. And maybe her mom will know what to do with it.
That thought, because of course Wishbone will have the answers, solidifies things and she glances down at the now-chirping baby bird and nods. “Well, I guess it’s mine now.”
Sickle says this with finality, as though she has some (or any) authority.
This presents new problems though - and though the first one should be ‘what will it eat’ and maybe the second one is ‘how will I carry it back home’, neither of these are the questions that she speaks. Something far more important comes to her mind first. “What should I name it?” And then she turns to the colt, realizing she’s just asked for name ideas from someone who she hasn’t even been introduced to yet! “Hey, what’s your name?"
@Chasm