12-29-2018, 01:29 PM
Pteron begins to suspect that this is not a wombat.
While definitely soft and round, the brown creature at his feet has grabby-stabby hooves, not diggy-hooves like a wombat. The number of phalanges with which she clings to him is disconcerting, so Pteron glances away, back to the bush where his new companion had just been trapped.
Is the not-wombat's mother nearby? He is very sure it is a size to need a mother, though he can't quite say why. Maybe it is the way she snuggles against him, small and gentle and clearly grateful. He is startled from this contemplation by the entirely novel sensation of being climbed.
He has to twist his head round at an awkward angle to get a good luck, but it seems that she's just holding on right there at the top of his leg, like she's some sorta monkey and he is a tree. Her grabby-stabbies are tickling the skin of his inner leg just a little bit, so he stretches out his wing on that side, hopeful that she might use it to climb higher on his back where his skin is not so sensitive.
"I'm gonna name you Wombat," he tells the small brown creature. "Even if you're not one. Not a wombat, I mean. Maybe Dad will know what you are." He's more doubtful that his mother will; she is familiar with the wildlife of Loess and almost nowhere else.
"Do you wanna go find him? He's nice. He might have gone to Loess today but we can just play till he gets back. Do you like to swim? I'm not a great swimmer." Pteron chatters as he takes a step forward. He is careful, unsure how good Wombat might be at holding onto moving things.
@[Aire]
While definitely soft and round, the brown creature at his feet has grabby-stabby hooves, not diggy-hooves like a wombat. The number of phalanges with which she clings to him is disconcerting, so Pteron glances away, back to the bush where his new companion had just been trapped.
Is the not-wombat's mother nearby? He is very sure it is a size to need a mother, though he can't quite say why. Maybe it is the way she snuggles against him, small and gentle and clearly grateful. He is startled from this contemplation by the entirely novel sensation of being climbed.
He has to twist his head round at an awkward angle to get a good luck, but it seems that she's just holding on right there at the top of his leg, like she's some sorta monkey and he is a tree. Her grabby-stabbies are tickling the skin of his inner leg just a little bit, so he stretches out his wing on that side, hopeful that she might use it to climb higher on his back where his skin is not so sensitive.
"I'm gonna name you Wombat," he tells the small brown creature. "Even if you're not one. Not a wombat, I mean. Maybe Dad will know what you are." He's more doubtful that his mother will; she is familiar with the wildlife of Loess and almost nowhere else.
"Do you wanna go find him? He's nice. He might have gone to Loess today but we can just play till he gets back. Do you like to swim? I'm not a great swimmer." Pteron chatters as he takes a step forward. He is careful, unsure how good Wombat might be at holding onto moving things.
@[Aire]