03-17-2020, 05:51 PM
It is her turn to frown when he asks if she lives here, and the once wild-child of Taiga looks at the vast emptiness of Nerine, then back to him, chewing at the drifting feather like a long blade of grass. Live here? What a strange question.
"I live everywhere I am. I'm not dead. Do I look dead?" And, awkwardly, she twists as though to try to look back at herself, as though she could contort herself just so to confirm whether or not she does, in fact, appear dead. There had been that time all the dead horses came back, and maybe he thinks she is one of them, though what would give him that idea, the dark young mare hasn't a clue. "Well, I don't think I'm dead. I did fall off a mountain once, though, so maybe! But look, I can't walk through things, see?"
The words fly off her tongue quickly, rushing together, and just as quickly, she leaps into him as though she might phase through his body, but without the power to do so, there is only a thudding of chest to shoulder, the dull sound of bodies colliding and her breath escaping her lungs with a loud huff.
"See?" She says again, shaking her head and loosening soft contour feathers that drift from her mane - the Bird has started molting and even in horse-shape she finds that they slip loose, inexplicably, "For sure not a ghost, nope. Unless I'm just really bad at it, but I'm pretty sure I'd be great at being a ghost. Probably the best ghost ever."
She bares her teeth in a madcap grin, unaware or unconcerned with whether he can see the expression, and tilts her head, suddenly remembering something else he said. Speaking of ghosts... "Sorry about your Ma."
She stills for a brief moment, but not to consider whether her comment was inconsiderate - never that - but rather to tumble the word 'sacrificed' over and over like a pebble in a stream. Somewhere deep and dark, she knows the definition of the word, she could use it in a sentence, if this were a test, but the real meaning of it evades her, she's too selfish to understand. Sacrifice sounds like something for other folk to do.
"Will they let me chase the sheep too, if I stay here?" She stills briefly beside him, close enough for the scent of smoke on each their bodies to mingle in the air around them, and then her forehooves are talons like his, smaller, suited to her petite stature, and she leaps forward to land on them with a strange, hollow-boned lightness, but her grin turns to a pout when she looks up again to where his eyes should be. "I'd put the beak on, too, but then I couldn't talk."
Quelle horreur!
"I live everywhere I am. I'm not dead. Do I look dead?" And, awkwardly, she twists as though to try to look back at herself, as though she could contort herself just so to confirm whether or not she does, in fact, appear dead. There had been that time all the dead horses came back, and maybe he thinks she is one of them, though what would give him that idea, the dark young mare hasn't a clue. "Well, I don't think I'm dead. I did fall off a mountain once, though, so maybe! But look, I can't walk through things, see?"
The words fly off her tongue quickly, rushing together, and just as quickly, she leaps into him as though she might phase through his body, but without the power to do so, there is only a thudding of chest to shoulder, the dull sound of bodies colliding and her breath escaping her lungs with a loud huff.
"See?" She says again, shaking her head and loosening soft contour feathers that drift from her mane - the Bird has started molting and even in horse-shape she finds that they slip loose, inexplicably, "For sure not a ghost, nope. Unless I'm just really bad at it, but I'm pretty sure I'd be great at being a ghost. Probably the best ghost ever."
She bares her teeth in a madcap grin, unaware or unconcerned with whether he can see the expression, and tilts her head, suddenly remembering something else he said. Speaking of ghosts... "Sorry about your Ma."
She stills for a brief moment, but not to consider whether her comment was inconsiderate - never that - but rather to tumble the word 'sacrificed' over and over like a pebble in a stream. Somewhere deep and dark, she knows the definition of the word, she could use it in a sentence, if this were a test, but the real meaning of it evades her, she's too selfish to understand. Sacrifice sounds like something for other folk to do.
"Will they let me chase the sheep too, if I stay here?" She stills briefly beside him, close enough for the scent of smoke on each their bodies to mingle in the air around them, and then her forehooves are talons like his, smaller, suited to her petite stature, and she leaps forward to land on them with a strange, hollow-boned lightness, but her grin turns to a pout when she looks up again to where his eyes should be. "I'd put the beak on, too, but then I couldn't talk."
Quelle horreur!
Popinjay
She was not quite what you would call refined
@[Ghaul]
