07-19-2019, 07:03 PM
Though her gaze remains on the waterfall ahead of her, Lepis keeps one blue ear turned back. The something in the trees has become a someone, and a small young someone at that. Her own children play a similar game they call hunt-the-hare, though Lepis is not accustomed to being the quarry. Still, she is ever fond of children, and allows the girl to sneak up quite close before giving any indication that she is aware of her presence.
“You’ll have to be faster than that next time,” Lepis says just as she pulls her wing out of reach of the brown filly’s grasping teeth. “And maybe a little quieter too.” She adds with an amused smile. With a single quick tug, Lepis removes one of the feathers that the girl had been trying to steal and holds it out to her with another friendly smile visible on her navy mouth.
“Or you could just ask.” For all her amusement at the girl’s bold efforts, Lepis cannot help but wonder where the girl’s parents are. The bay filly is not one she knows, and Lepis had been rock-sure that she knew everyone in the Taiga. There were some shadow dwellers, some that linger on the fringes of the forest who she does not know by name. But this girl is not theirs; they’d not let one of their young out alone. She’s the triplets’ age, the Comtesse decides, and she smells faintly of Izora Lethia. Not enough to be her child (and besides, that buckskin mare hasn’t yet borne her child), but perhaps an acquaintance of some sort, maybe a recent fosterling.
“What is your name, little feather thief?” asks the forest mare, her blue-grey eyes meeting those of the girl brightly and with no little amusement. The paint mare has tucked her wing back against her side once more, and resettles it with a small roll of her shoulder. Behind her, the creek chatters happily as it falls from one stone to the next.
@[Popinjay]
“You’ll have to be faster than that next time,” Lepis says just as she pulls her wing out of reach of the brown filly’s grasping teeth. “And maybe a little quieter too.” She adds with an amused smile. With a single quick tug, Lepis removes one of the feathers that the girl had been trying to steal and holds it out to her with another friendly smile visible on her navy mouth.
“Or you could just ask.” For all her amusement at the girl’s bold efforts, Lepis cannot help but wonder where the girl’s parents are. The bay filly is not one she knows, and Lepis had been rock-sure that she knew everyone in the Taiga. There were some shadow dwellers, some that linger on the fringes of the forest who she does not know by name. But this girl is not theirs; they’d not let one of their young out alone. She’s the triplets’ age, the Comtesse decides, and she smells faintly of Izora Lethia. Not enough to be her child (and besides, that buckskin mare hasn’t yet borne her child), but perhaps an acquaintance of some sort, maybe a recent fosterling.
“What is your name, little feather thief?” asks the forest mare, her blue-grey eyes meeting those of the girl brightly and with no little amusement. The paint mare has tucked her wing back against her side once more, and resettles it with a small roll of her shoulder. Behind her, the creek chatters happily as it falls from one stone to the next.
@[Popinjay]
