02-05-2016, 04:59 PM
And I'll owe it all to you, oh. My little bird.
Shh, our little bird might get in trouble.
She isn’t the slyest of all horses, in fact she is still quite clumsy and struggles holding anything faster than a walk. At the moment, she is half jogging at a very wobbly pace beyond the reach of the playground in hopes the faeries won’t notice her missing.
She is, after all, their current priority.
But things are so boring. Eberley spends an extensive amount wading herself in the lake (because aside from swimming there truly is nothing else to do), and that started to get old. She felt brave enough. She felt bold.
It was time for an adventure.
What is that old saying? It is best to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission?
So incredibly pertinent at this time.
Her warm chocolate body maneuvers around old trees and fallen logs. She is moving faster now, almost a trot if you turn your head sideways and close your eyes every three seconds. So close to being poised and elegant.
Her hoof falls into the crack of a root and she goes tumbling into a somersault.
Close—I said—close.
She recovers boldly, with her movement to stand strong and the courage in her eyes burning. Our little bird takes her tumble very seriously, this cannot happen again.
Her nose extends to her shoulder to itch away a dead twig clinging to her coat. She is beautifully adorable, standing there. When she moves, yes she looks like a train wreck, but standing there where gracefulness cannot be detected she looks like a child who will become something of a lady.
She will be more than the ordinary.
With a quick shake of her head, no one saw, and an adjust in her posture she is trotting again. It is completely obvious that she is counting every step, overanalyzing every movement and absolutely absorbed in her own concentration—you might find that endearing and you might find that exhausting, needless to say I will not penalize you for either.
Oh dear, God. Somebody warn her.
Our little bird is enveloped in her own mind (might I add her trot is flawless). Unfortunately the consequence for being so forcefully elegant is her lack of awareness.
For example, she isn’t aware of the trees.
Or the fallen logs.
Or, even, the midnight navy body currently placed so perfectly in the middle of her track.
Have you ever seen the Polar Express? Imagine that train, being Eberley, and this stranger being a car.
In the name of the father, and the son, and the holy spirit.
Eberley is, of course not as strong as a train. And so when her body makes contact, she folds into an embarrassing piece of paper and collapses to the floor in a heap. Her hazel eyes blink, her head feeling heavy and her legs going numb. She blinks several times fast before coming to the realization she has had an accident.
Thank God insurance isn’t a thing.
She isn’t the slyest of all horses, in fact she is still quite clumsy and struggles holding anything faster than a walk. At the moment, she is half jogging at a very wobbly pace beyond the reach of the playground in hopes the faeries won’t notice her missing.
She is, after all, their current priority.
But things are so boring. Eberley spends an extensive amount wading herself in the lake (because aside from swimming there truly is nothing else to do), and that started to get old. She felt brave enough. She felt bold.
It was time for an adventure.
What is that old saying? It is best to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission?
So incredibly pertinent at this time.
Her warm chocolate body maneuvers around old trees and fallen logs. She is moving faster now, almost a trot if you turn your head sideways and close your eyes every three seconds. So close to being poised and elegant.
Her hoof falls into the crack of a root and she goes tumbling into a somersault.
Close—I said—close.
She recovers boldly, with her movement to stand strong and the courage in her eyes burning. Our little bird takes her tumble very seriously, this cannot happen again.
Her nose extends to her shoulder to itch away a dead twig clinging to her coat. She is beautifully adorable, standing there. When she moves, yes she looks like a train wreck, but standing there where gracefulness cannot be detected she looks like a child who will become something of a lady.
She will be more than the ordinary.
With a quick shake of her head, no one saw, and an adjust in her posture she is trotting again. It is completely obvious that she is counting every step, overanalyzing every movement and absolutely absorbed in her own concentration—you might find that endearing and you might find that exhausting, needless to say I will not penalize you for either.
Oh dear, God. Somebody warn her.
Our little bird is enveloped in her own mind (might I add her trot is flawless). Unfortunately the consequence for being so forcefully elegant is her lack of awareness.
For example, she isn’t aware of the trees.
Or the fallen logs.
Or, even, the midnight navy body currently placed so perfectly in the middle of her track.
Have you ever seen the Polar Express? Imagine that train, being Eberley, and this stranger being a car.
In the name of the father, and the son, and the holy spirit.
Eberley is, of course not as strong as a train. And so when her body makes contact, she folds into an embarrassing piece of paper and collapses to the floor in a heap. Her hazel eyes blink, her head feeling heavy and her legs going numb. She blinks several times fast before coming to the realization she has had an accident.
Thank God insurance isn’t a thing.