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07-16-2016, 09:26 PM
Larue
“A horsa-horsaroo?” her young voice stumbled over what, exactly, he was. It sounded neat, and he certainly looked interesting. But, despite now knowing what he was, she didn’t really, truly actually know what he was. So her bubblegum face cocked, poofy and lemony forelock shifting over her questioning eyes.
But before she could ask more (such as awkward questions of how, exactly, a horsearoo came to be) he was acquiescing to her request of improving her trap! “What’s a wombat?” thous she did manage that question, “You sure know some weird words, Banj.” But her mercurial attention again shifted, happily watching him end his stretching and descend into her hard-dug pit.
She busied herself topside, sweeping away the dirt Banj heaved up with small, needled branches to hide the evidence of their trap from warier travelers in the woods. Her tiny, candied body vibrated with excitement as she diligently swept. Every so often, her bright eyes would peer into the steadily deepening pit, glittering with anticipation.
And her final peek over the edge, ears perked, she realized just how deep he’d made it. Could he get out? She thought about leaving him in the newly deepened hole—but the thought was short-lived, even for her youthful mind, because if she left him then there would be no way to trap someone new.
So she scampered away, small hooves dancing gleefully as she located one of the larger limbs he had begun to drag over the trap. “Hold on, Banj!” her call was muffled as she tried to fit her tiny, teacup muzzle around the thick, sappy pine branch. With some tiny grunts and snorts, the lemon drop filly finally plopped an end of the tall, thick limb into the hold.
Looking down at the horsaroo, her tiny tail twitched in accomplishment as a broad smile covered her bright face, “Get out, quick! What if someone comes?! We gotta cover up the hole!” Her pert voice was anxiously delighted as she rushed her new partner in crime.
But before she could ask more (such as awkward questions of how, exactly, a horsearoo came to be) he was acquiescing to her request of improving her trap! “What’s a wombat?” thous she did manage that question, “You sure know some weird words, Banj.” But her mercurial attention again shifted, happily watching him end his stretching and descend into her hard-dug pit.
She busied herself topside, sweeping away the dirt Banj heaved up with small, needled branches to hide the evidence of their trap from warier travelers in the woods. Her tiny, candied body vibrated with excitement as she diligently swept. Every so often, her bright eyes would peer into the steadily deepening pit, glittering with anticipation.
And her final peek over the edge, ears perked, she realized just how deep he’d made it. Could he get out? She thought about leaving him in the newly deepened hole—but the thought was short-lived, even for her youthful mind, because if she left him then there would be no way to trap someone new.
So she scampered away, small hooves dancing gleefully as she located one of the larger limbs he had begun to drag over the trap. “Hold on, Banj!” her call was muffled as she tried to fit her tiny, teacup muzzle around the thick, sappy pine branch. With some tiny grunts and snorts, the lemon drop filly finally plopped an end of the tall, thick limb into the hold.
Looking down at the horsaroo, her tiny tail twitched in accomplishment as a broad smile covered her bright face, “Get out, quick! What if someone comes?! We gotta cover up the hole!” Her pert voice was anxiously delighted as she rushed her new partner in crime.
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