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graasvoel
His wall of sea water did, indeed, soak them both—as he intended. Although, perhaps he hadn’t quite factored in her small stature into his massive splashes, for her small form (from wingtips to nose) was saturated with salt water. At first, a frisson of concern coursed through him— was this alright? Was this good? In the millisecond between breaths, his grin faltered as he watched water stream off his little bee.
And then she answered his qualms with an absolute answer: she laughed. It was a glorious sound, bright and carefree; without the worries or weight of the world. And it was infectious, luring out a rough chuckle of his own. A broad smile crossed his muzzle as she shouted his name in playful rebuke.
As she began to repeatedly plunge her hooves into the pool of water, he accepted the onslaught of water (but did raise his head slightly to avoid the brunt of the brine); however, his wings spread out and arced down, aiming to encase the little filly in their semi-circle. And then, acting on pure instinct and her vivacious energy, he reached out to playfully hook her beneath his chin in an attempt to pull her tightly to his chest.
But, even as he did this, his entire world slowed. What was he doing? He did not know play—perhaps this was what his childhood dreams had been made of. Playful, fun, loud outings with his parents. Splashing in puddles, wrestling with wings—
His anxiety and fears seized this moment of uncertainty, resurfacing with a vengeance as he froze. His wings slowly drooped down, head slowly rising as he awkward looked down at the little filly he had both yearned and feared to see: his daughter. Again, his mind begged to flee—to find some waiting and warm woman to lose all of this responsibility in.
But he still remained; playfulness dying.
And then she answered his qualms with an absolute answer: she laughed. It was a glorious sound, bright and carefree; without the worries or weight of the world. And it was infectious, luring out a rough chuckle of his own. A broad smile crossed his muzzle as she shouted his name in playful rebuke.
As she began to repeatedly plunge her hooves into the pool of water, he accepted the onslaught of water (but did raise his head slightly to avoid the brunt of the brine); however, his wings spread out and arced down, aiming to encase the little filly in their semi-circle. And then, acting on pure instinct and her vivacious energy, he reached out to playfully hook her beneath his chin in an attempt to pull her tightly to his chest.
But, even as he did this, his entire world slowed. What was he doing? He did not know play—perhaps this was what his childhood dreams had been made of. Playful, fun, loud outings with his parents. Splashing in puddles, wrestling with wings—
His anxiety and fears seized this moment of uncertainty, resurfacing with a vengeance as he froze. His wings slowly drooped down, head slowly rising as he awkward looked down at the little filly he had both yearned and feared to see: his daughter. Again, his mind begged to flee—to find some waiting and warm woman to lose all of this responsibility in.
But he still remained; playfulness dying.
@Melita SORRY IF THIS IS BORING, I prob should've rested the muse and waited to write it BUT here it is anyway <3
Please tag Graasvoel in all posts.
