04-03-2015, 04:04 PM
Dá is beginning to doze off when she is almost trampled by another young horse. Her head shoots up, her huge glossy eyes blinking in surprise at the shrill screechy words coming from the other girl's mouth. She still makes no attempt to move, though, preferring instead to remain on her own quiet island for the time being.
This girl is very loud.
She rattles off a machine gun-fire of questions that the newborn doesn't even have time to process properly, let alone answer. She is not quite so well versed in words as the older filly, nor quite so outgoing. Instead of answering immediately she regards Rae with confusion and the shy awe of a younger, more plain girl when confronted with a beautiful, bursting flower of a young woman.
"Mama?" she repeats the word questioningly, stretching out her nose to bridge the gap between them. She's cold she realises, her wet coat shivering against the breeze pushing and pulling all around them. She craves the warmth Rae brings with her. It is so close and yet so far. She must reach it, or she will die.
Very wobbily she lifts her bum in the air, teeteering back and forth as she struggles to get the art of balance exactly right. It's more obvious now that she is quite a bit smaller than Rae, in both height and width. It is quite clear that she will never reach the lofty size of most horses in Beqanna, she will be lucky to scrape thirteen hands.
She momentarily stands before her skinny legs collapse beneath her, knocking the wind out of her ribs. She grits her teeth and tries again, following in the footsteps of thousands of generations of equines before her. She must stand; it is in her very nature to do so. She totters unsteadily on her feet, but this time she does not fall. Using Rae as an anchor by resting her nose on her shoulder, Dá remains standing.
She would show gratitude, but she doesn't know how (nor does she understand the concept entirely yet). "Dá," she says to Rae instead. "I'm Dá."
She is quiet for a moment. "Mama?" she says, tilting her head quizzically at Rae. The question is obvious - are you my mama? And if not, where the heck is she?
This girl is very loud.
She rattles off a machine gun-fire of questions that the newborn doesn't even have time to process properly, let alone answer. She is not quite so well versed in words as the older filly, nor quite so outgoing. Instead of answering immediately she regards Rae with confusion and the shy awe of a younger, more plain girl when confronted with a beautiful, bursting flower of a young woman.
"Mama?" she repeats the word questioningly, stretching out her nose to bridge the gap between them. She's cold she realises, her wet coat shivering against the breeze pushing and pulling all around them. She craves the warmth Rae brings with her. It is so close and yet so far. She must reach it, or she will die.
Very wobbily she lifts her bum in the air, teeteering back and forth as she struggles to get the art of balance exactly right. It's more obvious now that she is quite a bit smaller than Rae, in both height and width. It is quite clear that she will never reach the lofty size of most horses in Beqanna, she will be lucky to scrape thirteen hands.
She momentarily stands before her skinny legs collapse beneath her, knocking the wind out of her ribs. She grits her teeth and tries again, following in the footsteps of thousands of generations of equines before her. She must stand; it is in her very nature to do so. She totters unsteadily on her feet, but this time she does not fall. Using Rae as an anchor by resting her nose on her shoulder, Dá remains standing.
She would show gratitude, but she doesn't know how (nor does she understand the concept entirely yet). "Dá," she says to Rae instead. "I'm Dá."
She is quiet for a moment. "Mama?" she says, tilting her head quizzically at Rae. The question is obvious - are you my mama? And if not, where the heck is she?