11-02-2024, 03:44 PM
He hates winter. It’s always harder to move, to pull at the magic at his core. For the most part, he typically allows his body to simply go ‘inert’ and wait for spring, much like the trees around him. But a troublesome brightness disturbs him and he gives a soft grunt, agitated to be awoken during these otherwise peaceful hours. Slowly, his eyes flutter open and he lifts his chin to watch the orbs split and dance. A low, lazy hiss escapes his jaws then. When this does not shoo them away, he gives his dark head a shake, sending the snow drifting from his body.
Long, spindly legs carry him closer. Every step is sluggish, as if weighted, but he gradually picks up his pace. A vine drags upward from his spine and swipes at the air in a clumsy attempt to snatch the closest orb toward him. As it dances away, he swears that it giggles and mocks him. Wilt gives a rasping whine and a second vine pulls free from his body. Minutes turn to hours, filled with growing sounds of frustration until he’s outright yowling.
Then, at last, he feels his appendage knock the strange thing to the ground. The other vine shoots forward, thankfully warmed from all this chasing, and closes around it firmly.
Long, spindly legs carry him closer. Every step is sluggish, as if weighted, but he gradually picks up his pace. A vine drags upward from his spine and swipes at the air in a clumsy attempt to snatch the closest orb toward him. As it dances away, he swears that it giggles and mocks him. Wilt gives a rasping whine and a second vine pulls free from his body. Minutes turn to hours, filled with growing sounds of frustration until he’s outright yowling.
Then, at last, he feels his appendage knock the strange thing to the ground. The other vine shoots forward, thankfully warmed from all this chasing, and closes around it firmly.