09-07-2020, 12:29 PM
Wight
I didn't mean to get lost, but, well, here we are. And really, Mama ought to have been watching me better. She can turn her head any old direction, after all, so even though I'm much faster than her, I am pretty sure this isn't my fault. The whisper of moth wings tickles my ear, the little beasts are clinging tight to me since we left home and came here. I don't think they much care for the cold, but the feel of them crawling into my ears is hideous. I shake my head, but they only resettle again, crawling through the still-thin curls of my mane and tail.
I don't mind the cold quite as much, but there sure is a lot of it. There's a lot of here, too, and not enough there. The trees are so tall, they're like dark sentinels lining the wicked, winding, paths that I've been running down, and it doesn't seem like any of them are leading me out of the woods any time soon. It's not as easy to outrun trees as you might think, especially when the snow underfoot makes my hooves numb and dumb. It's like they forgot how to walk and now I have to learn all over again.
I stumble on nothing - my forefoot didn't feel the ground, but the rest of me does, landing with a squeal and a clatter in the crystalline snow. Snow should be softer. It scrapes my nose and red blood wells up like tears, dripping eagerly to the ground. I don't even bother to re-sort my tangled legs, but lay like an awkward ice sculpture, half upside-down and too complicated by far.
Sorry, Mothies. I'm sure to have crushed at least one.
I don't mind the cold quite as much, but there sure is a lot of it. There's a lot of here, too, and not enough there. The trees are so tall, they're like dark sentinels lining the wicked, winding, paths that I've been running down, and it doesn't seem like any of them are leading me out of the woods any time soon. It's not as easy to outrun trees as you might think, especially when the snow underfoot makes my hooves numb and dumb. It's like they forgot how to walk and now I have to learn all over again.
I stumble on nothing - my forefoot didn't feel the ground, but the rest of me does, landing with a squeal and a clatter in the crystalline snow. Snow should be softer. It scrapes my nose and red blood wells up like tears, dripping eagerly to the ground. I don't even bother to re-sort my tangled legs, but lay like an awkward ice sculpture, half upside-down and too complicated by far.
Sorry, Mothies. I'm sure to have crushed at least one.
@[Molech] apparently this is happening lol