The dirt sticks to her tongue and leaves a strike of red clay across her nose. She is looking close for bugs hiding in the moss when the golden mare approaches, and does not really notice her at first, absorbed in the task at hand. But there aren’t any insects, no centipedes or roly-polies, they are sleeping away the winter under leaves and logs.
What fun is that?
Her nose wrinkles in distaste, and then a voice, soft, motherly, comes from above like bells singing. Popinjay freezes a moment, silent, breaking when lips touch her forelock.
Tail up!
Head up!
Ears back!
She squeals and strikes at the ground with a small forehoof, crouching low for a moment before leaping away. Up, up! There is higher ground available, boulders that have rolled together and gathered a millenia of soil, leaves, moss. Nimbly, more or less, she finds her way to the top of the nearest of these, and there she fixes dark eyes on the mare who calls herself Lethy, sides puffing and tail flipped up and over, the hairs curling against her haunches. The small rise of earth and stone puts her closer to eye level, nearly above it. It’s safer, up high, and with an unreasonable quickness, her attitude changes, bright again.
“Popinjay!” she shouts
That was probably not loud enough.
“Pop-Pop-Pop POPJay!”
With each syllable she twists her neck, emphatically turning her head side to side, with a final crowhop at the very endest of ends, little feet clattering rhythmically.
"Do you have snacks?"
What fun is that?
Her nose wrinkles in distaste, and then a voice, soft, motherly, comes from above like bells singing. Popinjay freezes a moment, silent, breaking when lips touch her forelock.
Tail up!
Head up!
Ears back!
She squeals and strikes at the ground with a small forehoof, crouching low for a moment before leaping away. Up, up! There is higher ground available, boulders that have rolled together and gathered a millenia of soil, leaves, moss. Nimbly, more or less, she finds her way to the top of the nearest of these, and there she fixes dark eyes on the mare who calls herself Lethy, sides puffing and tail flipped up and over, the hairs curling against her haunches. The small rise of earth and stone puts her closer to eye level, nearly above it. It’s safer, up high, and with an unreasonable quickness, her attitude changes, bright again.
“Popinjay!” she shouts
That was probably not loud enough.
“Pop-Pop-Pop POPJay!”
With each syllable she twists her neck, emphatically turning her head side to side, with a final crowhop at the very endest of ends, little feet clattering rhythmically.
"Do you have snacks?"
Popinjay
.........
