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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


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    Pteron;
    #1

    hear the noise that moves so soft and slow
    that's the sound of freshly fallen snow

     
    She sneezed with a soft kish!

    With tiny paws balled up, she rubbed at her eyes, propped up on her little bum and legs splayed for balance. She sniffed and wiped her nose, peered out at the big world around her. Everything was so big to a fluff of a girl only a few inches in length, not even a full foot tall. And she didn't even know how she'd gotten here. The last place she was had been so dark and quiet, and here it was so bright and noisy with a bustle of residents.

    She glanced beside her and saw a rock nearly half her size. Her paw reached out and patted it experimentally, admiring the cool, smooth surface with a rub of her palm and a soft smile at it. It was quiet and she liked that. She dropped her front legs to the ground and edged closer, pressed her black cheek against it with a soft pleased grunt-grunt of affection. Now she was not so alone in the scary world.

    But it did not respond, and she pulled back with sad eyes on it.

    Then there was another smell and she followed it with a quivering nose until her neck couldn't reach any further and she had to rise to her feet. She followed it with the awkward gait of a baby bear, little hips rolling and front legs stretching way out before her. Dark-gold eyes spied around her as she tracked it, noting the different sights around her, all the bright colors and new scents. Until a new thing grabbed her curious attention and she changed direction.

    Before she knew it, she was half-buried in a flowery thistle bush, needles prickling her as she reached as deep as she could with a grabby paw. She wailed softly, desperately wanting the furry family to let her in too. She had fur too, didn't they see? She was supposed to be with them! They only stared back with wide, beady eyes and huddled tightly together, ignoring her cries. It was the second time she'd felt rejection and she didn't like it at all. It hurt a lot.

    She tried to extract herself from the bush, jerking back repeatedly with frustrated little grunts. But she was pretty stuck, wasn't she? And she returned again to crying for help from the fearful family staring back at her and refusing her, tears dampening her little cheeks in black trails. She would be trapped here forever with the pain so sharp in her side and her heart.
     

    ( your love is gold, your love is gold )



    @[Pteron]
    #2
    Far overhead, a pair of eagles circle lazily, borne by updrafts that remain far beyond Pteron's reach. His little wings are spread wide in imitation, but the pale colt has no hope of flight. Takeoff from this flat lands requires muscle strength he does not yet have. It is not for lack of trying (most days he spends a good chunk of time just flap, flap, flapping) but there is a distinct ache in his chest whenever he watches the birds, or is left behind when his parents take flight.

    They've done so today, Daddy to Loess and Momma to circle the borders. Pteron is alone, and when he is alone he watches the birds.

    He might have done so for hours, his blue-green eyes fixed on the sky. The clouds, pale like his wings, turn in a myriad of shapes, and the boy has nearly drifted off to sleep when he hears something nearby.

    It is not a noise he recognizes and Momma isn't here to remind him of caution, so he blinks the sunspots from his eyes and trots toward the noise, tucking his wings to his thin dun sides as he goes.

    There is something in the thistle - a wombat maybe? - and Pteron whuffles excitedly. The sounds it makes are not the usual grunting snuffling chattering, but that does not perturb the young boy. He comes nearer, to where the thing is stuck. He is careful with the thistle, biting at it with his milk teeth in an effort to free the furry little thing.

    He can take it home, he thinks. Surely Daddy will let it sleep with him in their hollow, will support Pteron in the persuasion of Momma, who has never wanted her son to have a pet. But a wombat is a good pet, he thinks, small and cuddly and soft.

    @[Aire]
    #3

    hear the noise that moves so soft and slow
    that's the sound of freshly fallen snow

    She was neatly trapped in those cruel thistles, jerking to try to escape and only wedging them deeper into her fur. But then.

    With little snaps and cracks, some of them pulled away from her, and she twisted to see why with wide eyes. Oh! There were soft lips carefully grabbing them so precisely and setting them away from her, one by one meticulously freeing her as she held so still for him. This kindness washed through her, warming her with a swell of gratitude and her dark gold eyes glittered with pleasure.

    His mouth was so winter blue and his skin so pale, and he had beautiful wings like the birds she'd seen. She rolled out of the bush when the last one pulled away from her fur and barrelled into his young lanky leg, wrapping her little paws around him and clinging.

    She gave him the very same soft, affectionate grunt-grunts as she had the quiet rock, but this time it held so much more emotion. He'd saved her! Now he would keep her, right? Did he have food? She would find a way to ask in a moment, for now she was content to bathe him in her delight, rubbing her furry black cheek against his foreleg and cooing at him.

    Yes, she would like to keep him.
    And he was so bright and beautiful. So much prettier than the rockfriend.

    Her paw remained curled around his leg as if she were holding on to a branch, leaning back to look up at him and chew quietly on the claws of her other paw. Yes, he was so beautiful. She was a bit hungry, but her happiness helped her ignore it as she grinned helplessly, rising unsteadily to her back legs and swiping up at the air towards his nose because she couldn't reach.

    It just looked so soft though and she wondered if it was as cold as it looked with that frosty blue color.

    Then she might have been a little rude, she didn't know any better, and she began climbing up his leg to get to his back. She couldn't quite make it all the way though, not without digging into his pretty skin and she held on at the top of his leg, eyeing the curve of his shoulder that kept her from reaching his back. Well. No matter. Here was fine, and she clung tightly and cuddled into him with another smile.

    ( your love is gold, your love is gold )

    #4
    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]




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