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06-29-2012, 04:07 AM
Golden eyes watched silently, attentively, as the black colt wrought an incomplete image of the winged filly at her request, a creation that was short lived. Yet the youngster seemed quite thrilled by even this, while the gryphon pondered her unusual companions.
Where the black fellow was quiet and introverted, the blue filly was loud and extroverted, quickly moving from one individual to another with utter abandon. It brought an amused smile to Merakerr's features to hear her magic complimented so, beak parting slightly and dipping toward the feathers on her chest.
Yet soon enough both the youngsters were engrossed by the pale mare with vines on her hide, the one with such a peculiar manner that suggested of a simplicity of thought. Poppy, she named herself at young Cirrus' prompting. Somewhat apt, thought the young gryphon as thoughts curled through her mind in regards to the plant this mare was named for. Ear tufts twitched at the mare's words about patterns and colors and including herself and the black colt in this fragmented statement. In a moment of bemusement Merakerr glanced back over her silver-gray frame, lightly marked in a darker shade with the markings of her two different species. Yes, there was some truth in that assessment of being different from others. Moreso than this Poppy could realize. Why else would a gryphon sit so calmly amidst horses and not make a single predatory gesture?
A thrumming chuckle escaped her at that thought, before golden eyes drifted back to the colt, taking note of the slowly forming figure he was creating. Once again he was creating an image from her, much darker in hue than herself. Poppy had asked him for his name, and Merakerr realized he hadn't spoken a thing this entire time, much less offered his name as they all had.
"The sssubssstance you ussse rremindsss me of the ink of the octopi in the oceansss." She murmured, speaking her thoughts out loud. Not all of them, of course. She wouldn't think to comment to herbiverous horses about how delicious of a snack she found octopi to be, when she could get her talons on one. Too often she'd been left grasping at ink-stained waters instead of a meal, and it had been a long time since she'd attempted such an endeavor.
Where the black fellow was quiet and introverted, the blue filly was loud and extroverted, quickly moving from one individual to another with utter abandon. It brought an amused smile to Merakerr's features to hear her magic complimented so, beak parting slightly and dipping toward the feathers on her chest.
Yet soon enough both the youngsters were engrossed by the pale mare with vines on her hide, the one with such a peculiar manner that suggested of a simplicity of thought. Poppy, she named herself at young Cirrus' prompting. Somewhat apt, thought the young gryphon as thoughts curled through her mind in regards to the plant this mare was named for. Ear tufts twitched at the mare's words about patterns and colors and including herself and the black colt in this fragmented statement. In a moment of bemusement Merakerr glanced back over her silver-gray frame, lightly marked in a darker shade with the markings of her two different species. Yes, there was some truth in that assessment of being different from others. Moreso than this Poppy could realize. Why else would a gryphon sit so calmly amidst horses and not make a single predatory gesture?
A thrumming chuckle escaped her at that thought, before golden eyes drifted back to the colt, taking note of the slowly forming figure he was creating. Once again he was creating an image from her, much darker in hue than herself. Poppy had asked him for his name, and Merakerr realized he hadn't spoken a thing this entire time, much less offered his name as they all had.
"The sssubssstance you ussse rremindsss me of the ink of the octopi in the oceansss." She murmured, speaking her thoughts out loud. Not all of them, of course. She wouldn't think to comment to herbiverous horses about how delicious of a snack she found octopi to be, when she could get her talons on one. Too often she'd been left grasping at ink-stained waters instead of a meal, and it had been a long time since she'd attempted such an endeavor.
