KIPLING

Connecting the dots had never been Kipling's greatest strength. Nonetheless, even the obtuse stallion had to understand the link between "Watch this," and the bird's re-emergence from the shadows that surrounded the roan mare. His jaw slackened and he cocked his head in wonder, inhaling a deep, heady breath. As the bird divided itself in three, Kipling sighed a single, quietly impressed, "Wow…"

Hesitantly, Kipling tapped his own white stockinged front hoof to the ground as if to prod his shadow into animation. The shadow remained unmoved, stubborn and still atop the damp sand. He squinted, unconvinced, and instead tried to poke the mare's shadow. When this, too, failed to elicit a satisfying response, he decided to accept her explanation at face value. "They seem like lovely friends," He offered genuinely, nodding his cumbersome head in appreciation.

Her answer to his (ever so slightly petulant) question obviously delighted him. Kipling grinned broadly, his bronze eyes twinkling with glee. "Excellent - exactly! Me either. Besides, the boring ones didn't get to meet your friends. I like you. I'm Kipling."

His attention successfully redirected to the bag, Kipling sidled alongside her and joined the examination. "Hey, spiders can be friends, too," He deadpanned, perfectly straddling the line between expressing humor or actual offense. His long, twisted horn again proved useful: he slipped it under the top flap and flipped it down so that it was finally fully open. "Doesn't look like anything sinister…" He mused, though his voice had quieted to a more somber tone, as if he was having second thoughts about whether he should have been so flippant about the whole spider thing.

Well. It hasn't attacked me yet. Steeling his resolve, Kipling closed his teeth around the base of the bag and carefully inverted it a few inches above the sand. Out fell three figurines of varying wooden stains: an almost-black ebony, a rich chocolate mahogany, and a creamy pale pine. Each was no bigger than a newborn foal's hoof. Kipling was immediately drawn to the mahogany statuette which took the shape of a turtle. "Oh! Look! It's like the giving turtle from the cloud place!" He prodded it upright onto four short, sturdy legs, smiling thoughtfully at its simply carved face. The dark stag lay on its side, with an intricate but fragile-looking rack half-buried in the sand; the lightest hawk had landed top-side up with flat, outstretched wings.

Kipling paused from his investigation to look again at the mare. "I think he sent them." He had no particular reason to believe this - only a gut feeling - but he liked the idea of the magic turtle planting the bag in the surf for them to discover. It struck Kipling like something the odd reptile would do. "Can I keep them?" Why he needed the mare's permission to try to keep the little statues was anyone's guess. The question had popped into his mind and escaped unfiltered before he could consider it more carefully. So now, he watched her, and he waited.

---

OOC: No worries at all!

kids like you and me