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05-06-2017, 04:03 PM
Stellaluna...
Word arrives via the bush telegraph that Bad Banksia’s have been spotted in the threshold more than three times now, hunting always for the elusive bat who all but vanished with a winged equid a week before - it will be only a matter of time before their search expands into greater Helovia. Also, noted by the nut-folk, is Mrs Snake’s retied allegiance with the brutish Banksias, and that a new base now exists for their sly planning somewhere near the last sighting. With softly fluttering breath and a mask of bravery to compliment her gratitude, Stellaluna thanks Mr Frogmouth (who had travelled three days to find her), for the information. There is a soft, concerned murmur among the nuts all gathered about the pair to listen; then, just as Mr Frogmouth turns to leave, a thought strikes the pup and she starts suddenly on the spot. “Please, kind Mr Frogmouth,” she gestures in undertone behind him, for the silence around them this night is great. “Is there news about Charlie?” The old bird’s mottled head shook grimly, “no…” and then he swooped from the bough and was gone. A hot stew of liquid pools beneath long, lower lashes. Never has she been without her sister for this long. The soft, naked skin of a hand touches her leg, and the bat smiles quietly down at the Blossom there sitting (with legs swinging in the cool wind), staring up with wide, sympathetic blue eyes. “Not to worry,” the distant note of her own tiny voice announces quickly; they will continue their adventure nonetheless, and surely if the ‘little red’ was out there, someone (nut or bush, folk alike) would notice her. Above the congregation, starlight glitters through the midnight hour, free of the long black ribbons which had sullied the pretty blue of the previous day’s sky. Stellaluna presses her warm velvet nose into the demented, wind-warped bark of their clifftop host thanking him, before sailing away east into the thickening coniferous forest. There are few about (the fantasy-creatures of this region, mostly, share not her nocturnal nature), and the airspace is delightfully clear. She swoops and curves nimbly between the the pyramid, prickly tops of juvenile firs, searching for the exotic, cylindrical fruits ripening beneath the protection of needly leaves. When she comes upon a small crop at last, the bat alights eagerly and the tree bends awkwardly down beneath her fidgeting weight. "Turn on the dark, I'm afraid of the light!" |
Note: For those unfamiliar with Stellaluna, she lives in an imagined world and the folk she speaks with are not real :)
