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There were too many damn flowers. The aimless elderly mare had found this place, nestled in the valleys of two intersecting territories, in her ever persistent quest for fresher, greener pastures. She might not have a particular goal in mind, but dammit her old bones still needed nourishment; Cal flexed her wings experimentally, feeling those crusty tendons gaining some sort of fluid strength to them once again. She still didn’t take to the air as often as it felt like she should; there was just so much energy that went into the whole business. Yet the notion of her ableness was heartening, regardless; the knowledge that, if she wanted to, Cal could get into the sky was enough to rest her tired heart and let that crotchety old thing wander about with a clear conscious.
The golden grass here was puzzling; perhaps the Tallsun heat had already shriveled up the remaining vestiges of food in this area? However, as Cal set her lips a’ munchin’ on the sweet stuff, the blades tasted as cool and sweet as any sort of green thing she had ever encountered. Perhaps it’s jus’ the pigmentation, she wondered with vague interest; it was a novel experience to be able to say you ate on golden grass. There were just too many damn flowers about for the old mare to comfortably graze without inducing some involuntary guilt trip. Like I owe a flower any favors, she said irritably, ignoring the faint guilt in her gutstrings as she reached out with her lips, plucking at a daisy and stripping it naked, partaking in its sweet, heady taste. She gave a quite snort of amusement. As long as it ain’t no bluebell, I’m good to go, she mused in her mind.
There was the scent of another nearby, but Cal paid no mind to it. She had caught a glimpse of the stranger earlier—some scrawny lil’ gal having trouble keeping her amusement locked away in her throat. She was too small to cause too much mischief, and so Cal had ignore the tiny thing for now, concentrating on her grazing, trying to weed out the flowers from the golden stuff she was taking a liking to. Then, however, the tiny creature gave a whinny—a call, almost a plea, for someone or something to give her notice. Cal had a difficult time restraining her eyes from rolling—so she made no move to do so. And jus’ what do ya need, lil girl? She asked in her mind, ever irate. Instead of giving a returning whinny, Cal flapped her wings exactly once, while sending a sloppy sort of snort in her direction. If ya’ need anythin’, I’m right here. You got four legs—you walk ta me, shit.
It was always thus with Cal—she just couldn’t resist getting her nose into other people’s business. Especially foals. As annoyed as she was acting, that little girl’s calling had melted some inner part of Cal’s heart; the part closest to her mothering instincts, probably. Call her a fool, but Calvariam just couldn’t ignore the troubles of younger creatures. At some point in her long life, it had been her job to sooth the hearts of young minds—and she had a difficult time quittin’ the scene.
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