09-10-2020, 10:47 AM
Wight
I can't tell if the moths care that some of their number met their fate beneath my withers. They don't seem bothered, but of course I can't talk to them at all. They aren't my friends, they just don't go away. Mama has flowers in her ribbon-candy mane, and I got moths, not that I mind but I did meet a mare who hated moths so much she couldn't even look at me. I suppose that should have bothered me, but it was pretty funny watching her run when I, er, accidentally got too close, and Mama never tried to stop me, because honestly. Who's afraid of such a stupid thing like moths? They crush so easily, look:
A moth knocked loose from my forelock crawls in the snow looking just about as forlorn as something with compound eyes and no other facial features worth mentioning can look. It doesn't even have the decency to crunch when my teeth close on top of it, and the only flavor is the dust of its broken, pale green wings but there isn't time to think about it, not when a vision in green and gold melts out of the trees. My forehead presses into the muddy snow as I turn to get a better look at him, walking on the ceiling like a bat, wings pulled close for weaving through the trees, and that subtle smile on his lips.
Well, it's an upside-down frown, I know that, but I flash my biggest grin at him anyway - it's mostly blood-bright gums and the little nubs of my baby teeth.
Wooooooulllllllld'youuuuuuuu liiiiiiiiiiiike hhhhhheeeeeeeelllllllp wiiiiii'thaaaaaat? And, okay, yeah, I'm exaggerating a little, but could this guy talk any slower? I can barely understand him, it's like he's got a mouthful of mud.
"WouldIlikehelpwithwhat?"
I've been told I talk too fast, but I can't say as I've ever noticed, myself. Usually, everybody else talks so slow, like, what's even the point of talking if you're gonna take ten years just to say hi? I remain nonchalant. This is fine. My forelegs, crossed over one another in the air where I've rolled up and lodged against the bole of a damp-barked white oak, come apart easily and fall into a smart curl against my chest. They are not actually the problem. It's my traitorous right hind the has gotten tangled into the dormant ivy vines creeping up the tree's trunk and I kick out with it several times in quick succession but only manage to dent the hard sponge of the bark. I stop and exhale sharply into the frigid air, pausing to watch the cloud of my breath before turning the cherry-red eyes back to him
"YesIwouldlikehelpyes."
A moth knocked loose from my forelock crawls in the snow looking just about as forlorn as something with compound eyes and no other facial features worth mentioning can look. It doesn't even have the decency to crunch when my teeth close on top of it, and the only flavor is the dust of its broken, pale green wings but there isn't time to think about it, not when a vision in green and gold melts out of the trees. My forehead presses into the muddy snow as I turn to get a better look at him, walking on the ceiling like a bat, wings pulled close for weaving through the trees, and that subtle smile on his lips.
Well, it's an upside-down frown, I know that, but I flash my biggest grin at him anyway - it's mostly blood-bright gums and the little nubs of my baby teeth.
Wooooooulllllllld'youuuuuuuu liiiiiiiiiiiike hhhhhheeeeeeeelllllllp wiiiiii'thaaaaaat? And, okay, yeah, I'm exaggerating a little, but could this guy talk any slower? I can barely understand him, it's like he's got a mouthful of mud.
"WouldIlikehelpwithwhat?"
I've been told I talk too fast, but I can't say as I've ever noticed, myself. Usually, everybody else talks so slow, like, what's even the point of talking if you're gonna take ten years just to say hi? I remain nonchalant. This is fine. My forelegs, crossed over one another in the air where I've rolled up and lodged against the bole of a damp-barked white oak, come apart easily and fall into a smart curl against my chest. They are not actually the problem. It's my traitorous right hind the has gotten tangled into the dormant ivy vines creeping up the tree's trunk and I kick out with it several times in quick succession but only manage to dent the hard sponge of the bark. I stop and exhale sharply into the frigid air, pausing to watch the cloud of my breath before turning the cherry-red eyes back to him
"YesIwouldlikehelpyes."
@[Molech]