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Larue...
The lemon drop filly darted through the downpour, her quick movements hugging along trunks for as much shelter from the rain as possible, as she tried to get back to her and her parents’ cave. Though the rain did not sting as heat did, it still was an oddly unsettling feeling as it dripped over her candied skin, so she rushed towards home, safety, and shelter. Were she older (or perhaps simply more observant) she might have noticed the messy muck of another’s rapid dash into her family’s cave.
As it was, the tartlet didn’t notice and, in her haste, nearly crashed directly into Albrecht’s muddy haunches as she careened into the cave. She squealed in surprise as her long, knobby limbs flailed to catch her balance while she lurched to avoid running into him—though she (luckily) did arrive just in time to hear Albrecht’s choice use of particularly bad words that momma never let her use.
Lemon-freckled rimmed ears swing forward, candied blue eyes wide and swinging between Albrecht and mom. “Oh aye, as long as you’ve go’ the piss to go with your poor attitude!” And the filly giggled with delight as her mother used such language and such a tone with someone other than herself. “You’re in for it now, bag’o’bones,” she whispered loudly, and with excited amusement, to the old man.
But, much to her disappointment, her mother’s annoyance relented and she focused on her something at her feet—and egg. It must be the egg from the forest that had almost (but not entirely) snagged Rue’s short attention span. “You got the egg, ma?” her pert voice was laced with surprise and awe, bright eyes darting at the egg which cracked and ’kree’ed’. “It’s hatching!” her excited shout was accompanied with a bound towards her mom and the hatching companion, dark flaxen tail twitching with excitement.
As it was, the tartlet didn’t notice and, in her haste, nearly crashed directly into Albrecht’s muddy haunches as she careened into the cave. She squealed in surprise as her long, knobby limbs flailed to catch her balance while she lurched to avoid running into him—though she (luckily) did arrive just in time to hear Albrecht’s choice use of particularly bad words that momma never let her use.
Lemon-freckled rimmed ears swing forward, candied blue eyes wide and swinging between Albrecht and mom. “Oh aye, as long as you’ve go’ the piss to go with your poor attitude!” And the filly giggled with delight as her mother used such language and such a tone with someone other than herself. “You’re in for it now, bag’o’bones,” she whispered loudly, and with excited amusement, to the old man.
But, much to her disappointment, her mother’s annoyance relented and she focused on her something at her feet—and egg. It must be the egg from the forest that had almost (but not entirely) snagged Rue’s short attention span. “You got the egg, ma?” her pert voice was laced with surprise and awe, bright eyes darting at the egg which cracked and ’kree’ed’. “It’s hatching!” her excited shout was accompanied with a bound towards her mom and the hatching companion, dark flaxen tail twitching with excitement.
...pucker up
@Albrecht INCOMING LEMON DROP
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