10-22-2015, 02:31 PM
Porrim had been quick to let her go.
Mouthy, stubborn, egotistical - Zojja had been everything her brother had not been, much to her mother's mounting horror. She had tried, of course, but she had not smoothed out the multitude of bad habits that comprised her daughter's winning personality. Weaning had been mercifully easy, and Zojja was free to explore Beqanna within days - made even easier by her mother's meandering progress northward. All the same, however, the Meadow had held a certain allure to it: so many to watch. So much to learn.
Zojja was above them all, of course. It was one of the things Porrim had tried hardest to discourage her from doing. Not that it had worked - it's impossible to change the truth. The compulsion to inform others that they were blatant morons had come at a price, however - at nearly two years old, Zojja still found herself almost always alone. It made for an opportune time to practice all the tricks she'd seen her mother perform, but it did get rather boring after a while. Zojja's best and most intelligent company was, of course, herself, but this didn't mean she couldn't fall victim to simple loneliness. It was an unfortunate vice. She was certain she'd stamp it out someday.
Not that this was one of those lonely times.
She'd been settled into a narrow thicket just beyond the Meadow border, nearly knee-deep in fallen leaves, trying hard to imitate (trying to improve, really) one of Porrim's less common disguises - blending in with the surrounding trees, camouflaged, an illusion broken only by motion. And she HAD, naturally, improved upon her mother's method, though she couldn't be bothered to specify how. ALL of her experiments were perfect. It was simply how Zojja operated.
There had, however, been someone lurking nearby, and even as Zojja stood perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe lest her flawless disguise crumble, he came still closer. He stopped within mere feet of her - and he taunted her.
For a moment, the red-orange-brown of the treeline remained undisturbed, and silence reigned. Then the trees shivered, sort of, and Zojja's gangly dun form resolved itself back into proper solidity with a loud, frustrated snort. Her wings - for the moment, retaining their meticulous leaf pattern - tucked tightly against her sides.
"Pure genius," she huffed in response, looking the stallion over haughtily. "Lest the ignorant flee in fear of the unknown. I presume your lack of a retreat means that you don't count yourself among them. That said - who are you?"
Mouthy, stubborn, egotistical - Zojja had been everything her brother had not been, much to her mother's mounting horror. She had tried, of course, but she had not smoothed out the multitude of bad habits that comprised her daughter's winning personality. Weaning had been mercifully easy, and Zojja was free to explore Beqanna within days - made even easier by her mother's meandering progress northward. All the same, however, the Meadow had held a certain allure to it: so many to watch. So much to learn.
Zojja was above them all, of course. It was one of the things Porrim had tried hardest to discourage her from doing. Not that it had worked - it's impossible to change the truth. The compulsion to inform others that they were blatant morons had come at a price, however - at nearly two years old, Zojja still found herself almost always alone. It made for an opportune time to practice all the tricks she'd seen her mother perform, but it did get rather boring after a while. Zojja's best and most intelligent company was, of course, herself, but this didn't mean she couldn't fall victim to simple loneliness. It was an unfortunate vice. She was certain she'd stamp it out someday.
Not that this was one of those lonely times.
She'd been settled into a narrow thicket just beyond the Meadow border, nearly knee-deep in fallen leaves, trying hard to imitate (trying to improve, really) one of Porrim's less common disguises - blending in with the surrounding trees, camouflaged, an illusion broken only by motion. And she HAD, naturally, improved upon her mother's method, though she couldn't be bothered to specify how. ALL of her experiments were perfect. It was simply how Zojja operated.
There had, however, been someone lurking nearby, and even as Zojja stood perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe lest her flawless disguise crumble, he came still closer. He stopped within mere feet of her - and he taunted her.
For a moment, the red-orange-brown of the treeline remained undisturbed, and silence reigned. Then the trees shivered, sort of, and Zojja's gangly dun form resolved itself back into proper solidity with a loud, frustrated snort. Her wings - for the moment, retaining their meticulous leaf pattern - tucked tightly against her sides.
"Pure genius," she huffed in response, looking the stallion over haughtily. "Lest the ignorant flee in fear of the unknown. I presume your lack of a retreat means that you don't count yourself among them. That said - who are you?"