05-17-2018, 04:50 PM
Mother is growing bored, and despite being only a week old, Rivka already knows what that means.
Time to find somewhere to be that Djinni cannot easily find.
Easily is subjective, of course, simply being out of sight is enough distance between them. Rivka had slipped behind a boulder as Mother began to look for something to magic, and judging from the muffled chirp of a cliff-dwelling bird behind her, she'd done so just in time. It is not that Rivka is frightened of her mother (she knows how deeply the mage care for her), but rather that she does not always enjoy the experiments that Djinni does.
Being the size of a grain of sand was not any more of an enjoyable experience than was having a mane and tail made entirely of fire.
Rivka likes her own mane and tail the way they are, soft and fluffy and the same dark rose-gold as her mother's. Her coat is just like Daddy's, as brightly gold as the sun, and her wings might have come from either parent, for the fledging feathers that are just beginning to sprout from her wings are an equal mix of rose and white. She is not quite sure from where she inherited her nub of a horn or her secret head ability, but she likes both of them regardless.
The filly skips down the empty beach, pausing now and then to nose curiously at the treasures brought up by the sea. There is a long bleached bone from the ribcage of a whale, and a tiny dried starfish, perfectly preserved. She pounces after sand crabs as they scurry to safety, laughing merrily even when she falls repeatedly in the sand.
Time to find somewhere to be that Djinni cannot easily find.
Easily is subjective, of course, simply being out of sight is enough distance between them. Rivka had slipped behind a boulder as Mother began to look for something to magic, and judging from the muffled chirp of a cliff-dwelling bird behind her, she'd done so just in time. It is not that Rivka is frightened of her mother (she knows how deeply the mage care for her), but rather that she does not always enjoy the experiments that Djinni does.
Being the size of a grain of sand was not any more of an enjoyable experience than was having a mane and tail made entirely of fire.
Rivka likes her own mane and tail the way they are, soft and fluffy and the same dark rose-gold as her mother's. Her coat is just like Daddy's, as brightly gold as the sun, and her wings might have come from either parent, for the fledging feathers that are just beginning to sprout from her wings are an equal mix of rose and white. She is not quite sure from where she inherited her nub of a horn or her secret head ability, but she likes both of them regardless.
The filly skips down the empty beach, pausing now and then to nose curiously at the treasures brought up by the sea. There is a long bleached bone from the ribcage of a whale, and a tiny dried starfish, perfectly preserved. She pounces after sand crabs as they scurry to safety, laughing merrily even when she falls repeatedly in the sand.
