Morgayne
Morgayne pulls thorns and grooms her side, and she’s got her own constellation of bloody stars smeared into her fur. It doesn’t matter that it hurts or the blood is oozing, injury is temporary—especially for the roan child—but she isn’t about to heal these spines into her skin like a mess of improbable piercings.
Life as a porcupine does not interest the Pangean infant.
She does not hear the beautiful boy approach, so intent on the offense of the cacti. When his voice rises over her own frustrated mutters she looks up at him with her lovely eyes and drops her small dark ears against her skull aiming her vexation at him instead. When she snorts, preparing to tell him off she realizes (painfully) that a great many thorns still stick out from her ribs and haunches and that she has no chance of reaching them. Spitting out a spine, resignation calms the ferocity of her expression. “Yes. I do need help.” Though were their positions reversed she would not have asked at all and so she could not understand or respect his courtesy, she is a tiny bull-headed thing that takes care of herself and sets others right whether anyone likes it or not. “My name is Morgayne. I fell into a cactus.” The pink child is sulky, she always tends her own hurts and is disappointed that this one has occurred at all.
“Don’t jump cactuses.” Morgayne advises, her lisping speech grave. She demonstrates the length of her reach for him, since she is unable to curl in on herself to pull the spines and then returns to drawing them out. She does not notice his splendidness, and bristles against politeness, confused by it. “Thank you for your help.” These words are a bit stilted, she thinks that’s what she is supposed to say but if it’s wrong oh freaking well.
when they finally come, what'll you do to them
gonna decimate them like you did to me?
will you leave them stunned and stuttering
@[Malone]
