The silence endures. I wonder if she's uncomfortable with it? Most birds I know tend to be raucous, but perhaps she is like me, and is comfortable to wallow in noise absence. I'll never quite know because soon enough we're interrupted by a rather overbearing little filly. Although she is capable of speech, she is not entirely capable.

My ears twist in a flurry to try and catch everything she trumpets. She did mention it being cooler, which I hadn't noticed until she spoke then. I glanced around me as if expecting to find something within the air itself. Ridiculous.

Soon enough my attention is drawn back to the curiously colored girl. She's asking for a drawing of herself. In my surprise at her approach the artwork of my gryphon had splattered into the tundra, quickly staining what snow remains. It had served its purpose anyway, eliciting a pleased purr from the birdcat. It had been a pleasant sound.

I raised my tail once more, but the ink was slow to travel free and when it did it came blotchy and broken. Quickly my construction of a horse with clouds in her coat scrambled into the ground. I shake my head, at a loss for my loss of talent. I should probably care more, but for the moment I'm just embarrassed and grumpy about it. My head continues when she asks for a name. I sigh faintly, all to use to this route of the conversation. I may appear at first charming and intriguing, but once they know, they turn on me or they leave me. No one knows what to do with someone that cannot talk, it makes them uncomfortable or dominant. Even worse I have no drawings to hopelessly bridge that gap with.

I feign shyness, hoping to hide the truth for now. It would be nice to have some company for more than a few breaths, even if it is a rowdy filly.

Not soon after this exchange ends does another arrive. I catch sight of her before the collision, but all the same my flesh ripples with contained flight. I hadn't expected her to actually slam into the tree. Is she ill of the brain?

She glances around sheepishly and that's when I notice the strangeness of her pelt as well. As the vines seem to curl and move across her body I take an unconscious step forward, my ears tilting in obvious intrigue. What is she? Cirrus' coat is just as splendorous, but it is lost on the dullness of today's skies. What interesting company I've come across today.

Showing me know better signs of being inept, Poppy scuffs the ground and compliments the scraggly, half dead tree. I raise a 'brow quizzically, snorting quietly to myself as I draw back into my space. They may be pretty, but they are strange.

Kindly and calmly Merakerr begins to speak. Her tone is enchanting and it weaves in an interesting way. I'm quite a fan of accents. Not having a tongue for myself I often hang on the words of others, it was one of the reasons Roanne and his home appealed to me so much. I smile unknowingly up at her, ink slowly regathering into the gryphon that I'm admiring.