Gull

“What’s this?” It seems that with her face buried in your neck, Bell has discovered the feathers that lie hidden in your mane. “Feathers from a friend perhaps?” she teases, tugging on them. While you can hear her becoming playful, her timing couldn’t be worse. “Hey!” you growl sharply, jerking away just as she lets go, “don’t touch those!” Disgruntled, you reach back to smooth the feathers under your tangled locks, nosing them carefully into place. Not that she would notice, for when you look up, you see that she has wheeled away from you, likely trying to entice you into a game of tag…or to get a head start. Indignation flares in your chest at the thought—she hasn’t even told you where you’re going! Nevertheless, you streak after her, because though she may be heaven on hooves, you won’t be pushed around by this little cheat, not today. Not after the stunt she pulled with your feathers.

When she wheels, you nearly slam into her. In order to avoid a collision, you pitch yourself to the side at the last second, crow-hopping rather comically as you struggle both to slow and to regain your balance. “What was that?” you squawk when you finally pull up, wings flaring in irritation. Whatever games the peahen is playing, you’re not following. She has you really riled now, and your feathers are so ruffled that you’re nearly speechless—you even miss a golden opportunity to let fly a quip about playing dirty. This is a rare occurrence indeed.

But while you are at a loss for words, the mare is not. “To the pillars in the East,” she screeches, head tossed to the skies. “I might just let you call me Bell if you win,” she challenges, turning orange eyes on you. The wind whips her colorful hair around her face, and when she smiles, there is an edge to her expression. “And if I win,” your opponent finishes, voice lowering thoughtfully, “well, you can be the judge of that.” Don’t worry, Bell, you think sulkily, gazing eastward, there’s no danger of that. However, for once in your life, you keep your thoughts to yourself. You have no energy to waste on playful banter, not when it can be better spent leaving her in the eddies of your tumultuous wake.

“Let’s go,” you mutter tersely, moving to stand alongside her. “And no screaming,” you add. “On my count,” you tell her, with a quick glance to the side to make sure she is ready. “One…two…THREE!” you roar, surging forward on the final number. For a few moments, hooves skim over the ground as you take off in a full gallop, and then you are launching yourself into the sky, your blue eyes wildly searching for the pillars that mark the finish. You’ve got a thing or two to teach this mare…and not in the way you offered earlier.

@[Bellona]

OOC: Whoa...someone's a little unsettled.

trouble just grew wings