Oaks
04-17-2024, 11:28 AM
OAKS
you look well suited
like you came to win
Compared to its initial appearance, the raccoon has significantly improved already. It continues to stare back at Oaks with all the wonder of a small mammal, but it especially perks up when the stallion speaks aloud.
Had the creature understood him?
Oaks blinks his rusty-colored eyes back at the little animal as his mind continues its slow whirl of confusion. Not only had the raccoon warded off its impending death, but it seems to have gotten better altogether. This, for Oaks, is a brand new facet of his presumed curse. Never before has he seen any form of life survive his presence once the magic took effect.
The raccoon is chittering to him in its high-pitched little voice, its words unintelligible to the appaloosa. Its ears twitch, its head tilts, it wipes at its face as if to indicate the small gashes there. Its body language nearly seems to suggest that it had somehow registered his words, but surely that was not possible. Barring magical intereference, Oaks has never encountered another animal that could respond with great intelligence to the words of his language.
He chuffs softly, tucking his nose a bit when the raccoon settles back onto all four feet and gazes up at him as if awaiting some kind of answer. Oaks notes that some of the foam that had gathered around his mouth before is wiped away now, but remnants still linger. This is somewhat unsettling to Oaks’ mind, as he’s only seen more vicious predators froth at the mouth before during their zealous hunts and frenzied meals. Surely, though, the raccoon poses no such threat.
Regardless, as he is in no position to aid the poor creature (and still fully believes that his presence will only cause its eventual demise), he straightens a bit more, lifting his head. “I’m afraid I cannot help you, little one,” he says dismissively to it, turning to give it some berth as he continues on his path back to Pangea.
Had the creature understood him?
Oaks blinks his rusty-colored eyes back at the little animal as his mind continues its slow whirl of confusion. Not only had the raccoon warded off its impending death, but it seems to have gotten better altogether. This, for Oaks, is a brand new facet of his presumed curse. Never before has he seen any form of life survive his presence once the magic took effect.
The raccoon is chittering to him in its high-pitched little voice, its words unintelligible to the appaloosa. Its ears twitch, its head tilts, it wipes at its face as if to indicate the small gashes there. Its body language nearly seems to suggest that it had somehow registered his words, but surely that was not possible. Barring magical intereference, Oaks has never encountered another animal that could respond with great intelligence to the words of his language.
He chuffs softly, tucking his nose a bit when the raccoon settles back onto all four feet and gazes up at him as if awaiting some kind of answer. Oaks notes that some of the foam that had gathered around his mouth before is wiped away now, but remnants still linger. This is somewhat unsettling to Oaks’ mind, as he’s only seen more vicious predators froth at the mouth before during their zealous hunts and frenzied meals. Surely, though, the raccoon poses no such threat.
Regardless, as he is in no position to aid the poor creature (and still fully believes that his presence will only cause its eventual demise), he straightens a bit more, lifting his head. “I’m afraid I cannot help you, little one,” he says dismissively to it, turning to give it some berth as he continues on his path back to Pangea.