07-25-2016, 09:05 PM
Damn! Papa had slipped from my cautious watch. He was missing his Darwin and while I had felt the vibrations of the earth and the magic that rippled I had not know what it meant. I hadn't paid attention, too busy romping here and there and wandering into places I probably shouldn't. I had learned to fly, so there was that also. It was fun soaring up above in the clouds and watching everyone from above. And it was so fast! I could go much farther when I could fly straight over things instead of having to walk so far below around them.
But Papa was crying for Darwin and it broke my heart. Shattered it into little bitty pieces. When he didn't eat or drink or do much of anything for a week, I thought he was dying. I had pleaded with him until my throat was raw, until my lips bled from being so chapped and dry, but apparently the death of his spirit animal was as hurtful as loosing one of us or a piece of himself. That seventh day I had slipped from watching Papa to going and grabbing some food and a drink before returning. I slept when he did usually, catching quick naps here and there.
But when I got back..he was gone.
"Dammit Papa." I curse and take to the skies. I had been gone a little longer than I wanted to be. So by the time I found him, flying far to the north where it was always cold, I sighed happily when I did see him on the ground. Or rather, I saw Rowling near the giant ice wall, with an icicle Papa near him.
A mare was talking to him as I circled around, slowly lowering myself to them. I catch names and then Vaughan as he speaks and I cannot help but smile a little. I land lightly next to them. "Papa, you really should have waited for the rest of us." I scold him lightly, touching my lips to him and then to Rowling before turning my attention to the rest of them. "Pardon my Papa, I think he means for us to move here." I manage a smile, meeting them all in turn with my black coat and black feathers a stark contrast against the white of the snow. "My name is Graeme, this is Rowling, and Papa's name is Weir. He's deeply saddened right now by the loss of his familiar when the magic surged through the land." I act as Papa's mouthpiece although I keep turning to look at him out of the corner of my eyes before I respond.
Instead I tug Rowling's forelock, looking at each of them in turn. "Is this place always this cold?" My winter coat was not as thick as it ought to be living in this place. Oh well, I would adjust, so long as I was with my family.
But Papa was crying for Darwin and it broke my heart. Shattered it into little bitty pieces. When he didn't eat or drink or do much of anything for a week, I thought he was dying. I had pleaded with him until my throat was raw, until my lips bled from being so chapped and dry, but apparently the death of his spirit animal was as hurtful as loosing one of us or a piece of himself. That seventh day I had slipped from watching Papa to going and grabbing some food and a drink before returning. I slept when he did usually, catching quick naps here and there.
But when I got back..he was gone.
"Dammit Papa." I curse and take to the skies. I had been gone a little longer than I wanted to be. So by the time I found him, flying far to the north where it was always cold, I sighed happily when I did see him on the ground. Or rather, I saw Rowling near the giant ice wall, with an icicle Papa near him.
A mare was talking to him as I circled around, slowly lowering myself to them. I catch names and then Vaughan as he speaks and I cannot help but smile a little. I land lightly next to them. "Papa, you really should have waited for the rest of us." I scold him lightly, touching my lips to him and then to Rowling before turning my attention to the rest of them. "Pardon my Papa, I think he means for us to move here." I manage a smile, meeting them all in turn with my black coat and black feathers a stark contrast against the white of the snow. "My name is Graeme, this is Rowling, and Papa's name is Weir. He's deeply saddened right now by the loss of his familiar when the magic surged through the land." I act as Papa's mouthpiece although I keep turning to look at him out of the corner of my eyes before I respond.
Instead I tug Rowling's forelock, looking at each of them in turn. "Is this place always this cold?" My winter coat was not as thick as it ought to be living in this place. Oh well, I would adjust, so long as I was with my family.
Graeme