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05-31-2017, 02:05 PM
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otem
You'll remember me when the west wind moves upon the fields of barley You can tell the sun in his jealous sky when we walked in fields of gold So. This was the world. Although the filly was far too young to wander from Otem's dual-coloured eyes watched the Throat as it appeared to ignite beneath the dying rays of the sun. Crimsons and golds spilled out across the bloody sands, and the tribrid looked upon this masterpiece with a grin of delight and a gnawing sense of pleasure in her belly. The sound of a scuffle down by the shoreline caught Otem's attention. Having no knowledge of predators and thus no resulting fear from the sound, the autumn-marked child glanced over her shoulder to see Isopia's back to her, grinned, and then darted down the sands on shaky but long legs. The sound continued, a sort of avian sound that Otem's young ears couldn't quite make out. It was almost like she didn't know how to listen properly. Like the sounds just hit her ears, but didn't go into her brain. So of course, she continued downwards to investigate. There, just at the edge of the shoreline was a nest. Inside of the nest was a clutch of eggs, and nearby a large owl was apparently trying to defend them from a grouping of snakes that had taken interest. Unsure what to do, though curious about what the round shapes were, Otem simply halted, tiny wings held tightly against her sides, watching. |
