Fuck. Something is clinging to my left wing, dragging on me. I turn my neck to see what it is, but then I feel my right hoof get snared, too. Twigs covered in fuzzy little buds are poking through my feathers. “Damn it!” I flap hard with my right wing, trying to capture whatever is left of my flagging momentum, but the worthless appendage only flails helplessly and tangles me further in the arbor, and now I’m definitely not flying anymore. I’m not exactly still either, though. I’m just kind of stuck awkwardly up in some big tree, shifting and swaying and trying to move about enough to kick myself free.

Pegasus aren’t actually birds, and we aren’t actually really built to perch in trees, and so it’s not really terribly surprising that instead of successfully taking off, I find myself tumbling down through the branches with a raucous clatter. At least I hear a couple satisfying cracks from the thinner limbs - if I’m going down, you’re coming with me, you fucking branches. My instincts help me out and my wings outstretch and begin to beat hard of their own accord, slowing my fall enough that I do not become a splattered mess of guts and gore soaking into the damp ground. Instead, I land in a heap on my side – a muddled mess of sticks and mud and feathers and fur.

Ow. But at least it’s not R.I.P. Nimue. That would be embarrassing.

I can feel the bruise forming along my shoulder as I push myself upright onto four hooves again. I’m not gonna lie: it feels pretty good. Pretty badass. I shake vigorously, shedding some of the looser artifacts from my coat and wings. Finally, I look around. Indeed, it’s a forest. What a surprise. It’s dense and dark here, but my eyes adjust, and it’s kind of hauntingly pretty. You just feel so connected and small when you're alone out here, you know?

A rustling noise picks up from somewhere particularly close by. I guess I should see what it is, so I lower my gaze casually in the direction of the sound and flick my ears forward. A smaller animal sharpens into focus – pointy features and long fur, inching along the ground. I can smell the blood on its breath that labels it a carnivore, but it’s small and fuzzy, so it scarcely registers as a threat. It seems cute. If I stand really still, maybe it will come closer to me and I can get a better look. Maybe it will want to play. I’d love to play with someone. Okay, so I’ll keep my gaze away and hold my breath and maybe…

Inari!

My breath rushes out of me in a huff of disappointment, and I lift my head to see what had ruined the would-be moment. The dappled moonlight glances off something dark. I narrow my eyes and make out the form of a horned horse; the cute creature had scurried beside his legs. I had heard of these horned ones before, but this is the first time I’ve seen one. My disappointment quickly gives way to something far more pleasant - something like awe. “Don’t apologize,” I interject hastily. I forgot how gravelly and rough my voice sounds, but I like it. It suits me.

He asks if I’m okay, which seems like a reasonable question given the circumstances, but it will be a cold day in hell when I moan to some stranger about a few bruises. I stretch my wings upwards thoughtfully and offer a crooked smile his way. “Oh, yeah, it’s nothing,” I wave off the injuries dismissively. I mean, I'll sleep them off in no time anyways. Whatever.

Far more interestingly, the animal I had been watching seems familiar with this guy. I’m still a little fixated on both of them because, well, the whole situation is pretty incredible. I gesture to the pointy one and ask, “What’s that? I thought we were having a moment. Do you live alone out here?” Why am I babbling like this? It's been so long since I've talked to someone that now I sound like some kind of socially challenged moron. Ugh. I promise I'm not some weirdo. Cross my heart.

OOC: Yes please to tags! :) @[Sacre]

I look from the orange puff of fur to the dark colt and acknowledge their kinship with a small smile. Something about their interaction strikes me as warmly familiar, even though Fluffy doesn’t speak anything more than a bark. If friends are the family you choose, they seem to embody friendship rather admirably. I figure you can never have enough real friends, and if these two are good guys, I think I’d like to stick around. The problem is sorting the real from the fake, but like I said, I’ve rarely met a backstabber or turncoat at night.

As I feel the wet mud of the forest floor grasping at my fetlocks and recall the jolt of branches clawing at my wings, I decide that this Dragons Throat place sounds pretty nice. “Less trees sounds great,” I quip, taking a moment to chuckle at my own joke. My laugh has always been different – deep and full, even when it’s short. I never had one of those girly giggles, nor would I want one. Even if I could, I wouldn’t change a damn thing about myself.

Am I new here? I suppose I am. I guess I’m new everywhere besides my birth home, and honestly, fuck that place. But am I new here new here? Like… new but intending to settle and not be new anymore? I look at Fluffy – Inari, I guess – to try to discern some sign in his bright canine eyes. I don’t see anything, but something about the whole situation feels sort of predestined. I fall through the trees in the dead of night and just so happen to be stumbled upon by these two? Okay, gods. I’ll roll with it.

“I’m Nimue. I just dropped in,” I glance upwards through the dense arbor from which I’d descended ever so gracefully. “Where exactly is here, anyways?” At least my speech seems to be shedding its awkwardness with each sentence. It’s weird to put thoughts into words when you haven’t spoken in a while, but it seems a bit like flying. Once you’ve got it down, it’s not really something you forget.