07-19-2019, 10:52 PM
It’s possible that she would have stood all day in this ridiculous position, nose in the air, not close enough, and yet also entirely too close to the claws and beak of a bird of prey that has no reason to take kindly to her interest. Her response to Lethy is mumbled, nonsensical, she doesn’t mean to be rude, but the bird on the stallion’s back has consumed the entirety of her attention. Thankfully, Barry - Aten? - has sympathy for her neck. Or perhaps it is sympathy for his own neck which likely aches at the thought of her standing like this for so long, because certainly Popinjay does not seem to even notice.
When the gyrfalcon opens his eyes, the nictitating membrane sliding reluctantly away, she nickers and leans back onto her hind legs, front legs curling up between herself and Aten, so that she has to push off and to the side to make room for the bird to land. She dances excitedly, leaping in the air and kicking out well away from Turul before coming in close, dropping down on her knees beside him, hindquarters still in the air, so that she can look at him on his own level The warm breath of her nostrils stirs the speckled feathers of his breast, though she does not actually try to touch him now that he is well within reach, and only returns his gaze with fascination.
“Lethy,” she whispers the loud non-whisper of children without turning away, “could I be friends with Turul?”
The filly has no understanding of the relationship between Aten and Turul, her people have neither pets, nor companion animals with whom they can communicate, and the idea would be preposterous to them. But they are simple nomads and have no magic, they must rely on their instincts alone to navigate the world. This is something new. Could Popinjay have a companion animal?
Eventually, even for her young and flexible back, the bowed position becomes tiring and she tucks her hind legs underneath her sloppily, small hooves scraping at the ground. She picks up an acorn cap that lies near her left fore and deposits it in front of Turul.
A gift.
When the gyrfalcon opens his eyes, the nictitating membrane sliding reluctantly away, she nickers and leans back onto her hind legs, front legs curling up between herself and Aten, so that she has to push off and to the side to make room for the bird to land. She dances excitedly, leaping in the air and kicking out well away from Turul before coming in close, dropping down on her knees beside him, hindquarters still in the air, so that she can look at him on his own level The warm breath of her nostrils stirs the speckled feathers of his breast, though she does not actually try to touch him now that he is well within reach, and only returns his gaze with fascination.
“Lethy,” she whispers the loud non-whisper of children without turning away, “could I be friends with Turul?”
The filly has no understanding of the relationship between Aten and Turul, her people have neither pets, nor companion animals with whom they can communicate, and the idea would be preposterous to them. But they are simple nomads and have no magic, they must rely on their instincts alone to navigate the world. This is something new. Could Popinjay have a companion animal?
Eventually, even for her young and flexible back, the bowed position becomes tiring and she tucks her hind legs underneath her sloppily, small hooves scraping at the ground. She picks up an acorn cap that lies near her left fore and deposits it in front of Turul.
A gift.
Popinjay
She was not quite what you would call refined
@[Aten] @[Izora Lethia]
