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06-24-2012, 09:39 PM
Poppy, Smoke names the sound of new hooves even before Asur sees the vine-clad mare. The smallest shuffle of pale limbs draws him back; Poppy appears in a rush of activity, trailing the pungent odor of plants and covered in them, too. Their leaves move when the grey mare speaks; one orange ear tilts up to follow this, and the brightness in Asur’s good eye betrays more than a little surprise - but the feeling dulls as soon as it rises. His body resents this constant newness, resents his varied demands and lack of concern for its suffering. Asur breathes out, and lowers his head to follow the healer’s work in silence. She works fast, he thinks. Feeling no threat he leans in, attentive, moving only to eat when she bids him eat. Something about her mannerisms, the distracted babble of her voice communicated, too, through frenzied movements only Poppy seems to know the pattern to, tells him the mare knows her duty well enough to brook no argument. So Asur chews, and watches, and feels a vague tingling spread up along the length of his jaw. For a while only that sound and the noise of Poppy’s movements interrupt the quiet, a dull screen of white noise cast by walls of falling water just behind him. Only the mare eventually speaks, and he blinks as if broken out of a spell - sleep, really. ”Fire?” Asur’s head jerks back, and suddenly the keen glint of his eye darts for the dragons. Muscle strings taut under his orange hide and the stallion jerks back, standing tall again and lean and glancing at Smoke in search of some help. He becomes a series of trembling limbs and scorching distrust in an instant, slipping back and away and frowning, growling like a beast newly caged. ”You said fire,” he glares at the grey mare, his tail wringing. |
