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05-04-2017, 02:50 PM
Rikyn Duir honks an ugly sound at a raven as it flies by him, some distance away. Sitting up suddenly from where I’d been flopped over on my side, lazily passing the time in the tall, summer grass, I look towards the horrid guffaw of a noise to see my buck looking towards the entrance to the valley. Sighing as I stand up and stretch, thrusting my ass to the sky and then moving forward, my hind legs seeming to only follow me at their leisure, one at a time, some steps later, I chase the last of the drowsiness from my whole body with a vigorous shake, before I even clarify who it is I’m going to go talk to. My eyes land on a trio crossing towards the lake, and they’re almost halfway there; the crazy woman, who I’ve avoided as much as possible, Weaver, and Yael. The presence of Beloved (if that’s even her name) explains why my buck didn’t go forward to meet them, considering his natural wariness around anything that was so obviously predatory by nature. Feeling an ear fall back and a scowl begin to form on my face, I can almost hear Wessex calling me a brat again, but do little to change what’s going on in the window display, regardless. I’m allowed to not want to talk to them, right? "Hello ladies," I say and pause, falling into step alongside Yael, and nodding to Weaver as she passes; I keep an ear attentively tuned on the creepy giggling of the white mare, while trying not to actually look at her (my mother had claimed it provoked the loonies, of which there were numerous about, during my childhood here – sound advice to give, really), "what brings you here, Yael?" I’d love to be the one to disappoint you
when I don’t fall down |
