11-13-2019, 12:46 PM
“That’s me, silly.” Celina replies, shaking the edge of her wing and adding to the dust that flies from the wings not yet used for flight. They’re too small to carry her yet, but not for long. Pteron said he’d flown on his second birthday, and Celina is determined to beat his record. She has only a few months to go, but she won’t make it if Popinjay chews off her wing. “That’s my…”
Her voice trails off.
Pop is looking at something. Celina’s head tilts too, and then she sees them.
“Fairies!” She exclaims, her voice in perfect harmony with Poppy’s. Celina does not remember trading brains with the bay filly, and wonders how one might get back a brain. Half a plan (a sharp stick, pine tar, and 14 spiders) forms instantly in her head, and is shaken loose with a toss of it in agreement with the idea of granting wishes.
“Gotta catch ‘em,” She says, “gotta catch ‘em on the Mountain.” The last word is emphasized, and Celina grows several feet taller in an attempt to impress this upon Popinjay. It seems to be working, until she grows too tall and hits her head on a cloud. It does taste blue; Pop had been right.
“Keep going,” Celina pants, struggling to find her now shrunken legs. Shrunken to normal length, she suspects, but the front ones are certainly attached the wrong way, and her traipsing behind the bay filly is awkward and bumbling. The Mountain is thataway, even if the fairies might get too far ahead to see.
@[Popinjay]
Her voice trails off.
Pop is looking at something. Celina’s head tilts too, and then she sees them.
“Fairies!” She exclaims, her voice in perfect harmony with Poppy’s. Celina does not remember trading brains with the bay filly, and wonders how one might get back a brain. Half a plan (a sharp stick, pine tar, and 14 spiders) forms instantly in her head, and is shaken loose with a toss of it in agreement with the idea of granting wishes.
“Gotta catch ‘em,” She says, “gotta catch ‘em on the Mountain.” The last word is emphasized, and Celina grows several feet taller in an attempt to impress this upon Popinjay. It seems to be working, until she grows too tall and hits her head on a cloud. It does taste blue; Pop had been right.
“Keep going,” Celina pants, struggling to find her now shrunken legs. Shrunken to normal length, she suspects, but the front ones are certainly attached the wrong way, and her traipsing behind the bay filly is awkward and bumbling. The Mountain is thataway, even if the fairies might get too far ahead to see.
@[Popinjay]