01-31-2022, 09:06 PM
Myrna leans into her mother’s touch, smiling contently as she pictures her unborn sibling. Would they be spotted like Firion? Pale like herself and Mazikeen? You’re going to be such a good big sister, Myrna hears, and the words feel warm in her ears and heart.
“I’ll try.” She promises, and giggles in relief at finding out she’s not expected to pick a name. She is feeling quite content when she hears her mother’s voice change. She does not need to look up to know that Mazikeen’s smile will be fading, and instead just leans against her a little more firmly for a moment, and easily accepts the change of subject.
“I did a pine tree yesterday, but it was on accident. I was trying to be a pine cone so a squirrel might carry me up a tree but then I got distracted.” She is prone to dreaming and distractions, much like the father she has never had, and this will come as no surprise to her mother.
Myrna’s ability to shift has been slow to blossom, but the farther she pushes herself the fewer limits she has found. Long winter nights with nothing to do but practice have made her much quicker at her favorite shapes of goat and wolf and dragon. Nonsentient objects are more difficult, so she intersperses those studies with changing small bits of herself.
As she thinks of it, the blue and orange flowers of her mane become instead a fuschia so bright they seem to glow. Her horns reflect the cheery shade, and she focuses intently until the tips become a pair of miniature white-branched trees, leaved in a matching shade of fuschia.
Myrna cannot hold them long, and when they fade she looks to her mother, certain that she will be impressed.
@Mazikeen
“I’ll try.” She promises, and giggles in relief at finding out she’s not expected to pick a name. She is feeling quite content when she hears her mother’s voice change. She does not need to look up to know that Mazikeen’s smile will be fading, and instead just leans against her a little more firmly for a moment, and easily accepts the change of subject.
“I did a pine tree yesterday, but it was on accident. I was trying to be a pine cone so a squirrel might carry me up a tree but then I got distracted.” She is prone to dreaming and distractions, much like the father she has never had, and this will come as no surprise to her mother.
Myrna’s ability to shift has been slow to blossom, but the farther she pushes herself the fewer limits she has found. Long winter nights with nothing to do but practice have made her much quicker at her favorite shapes of goat and wolf and dragon. Nonsentient objects are more difficult, so she intersperses those studies with changing small bits of herself.
As she thinks of it, the blue and orange flowers of her mane become instead a fuschia so bright they seem to glow. Her horns reflect the cheery shade, and she focuses intently until the tips become a pair of miniature white-branched trees, leaved in a matching shade of fuschia.
Myrna cannot hold them long, and when they fade she looks to her mother, certain that she will be impressed.
@Mazikeen