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08-22-2015, 04:43 PM
"Eh. That is a bother," my eyes flicker from the ground to the frantic mother bird. Apparently mother hens are not the only ones that fly into a hot fuss over their young. Praise the gods our young are birthed. "Don't fret.. Ma."
My head jerks up at how casually the word slips from my tongue. As if I had at some point in my life used it regularly. Did my own mother fret over me so?
How things change. With a grimace I fight through the splitting headache. The changing of seasons irritates the symptoms of my disease. What the correlation is I am unsure, but I am counting the days until my body settles into the season.
"We are too large to handle it. What if we made her a sling to carry it to her nest with?" My eyes turn an even icier blue as I survey the area around us for ideas. If we had the dexterity and precision of the bird's beak we could weave a sling for her. But our lips are useless to do such a thing. Or we could create a more large scale sling.
That could be it!
"We need to make a larger sling. One for us to use." I arch my brow at the filly, does she mind my taking charge of the situation? My body is beginning to ache along with my head. I want to get this done quickly so I can rest.
"Rocks could be used to make the egg rise, if we settled it like a balance. But what will we make the rest of it out of?" Will it work? I suppose I should ask her what she thinks about the matter but I haven't the patience to waste time on actions that are no more than formalities. I rub my head on my right foreleg, doing my best to press the pain from my head. I feel like I have spoken an exceptional amount. I am ready to settle into someplace silent.
My head jerks up at how casually the word slips from my tongue. As if I had at some point in my life used it regularly. Did my own mother fret over me so?
How things change. With a grimace I fight through the splitting headache. The changing of seasons irritates the symptoms of my disease. What the correlation is I am unsure, but I am counting the days until my body settles into the season.
"We are too large to handle it. What if we made her a sling to carry it to her nest with?" My eyes turn an even icier blue as I survey the area around us for ideas. If we had the dexterity and precision of the bird's beak we could weave a sling for her. But our lips are useless to do such a thing. Or we could create a more large scale sling.
That could be it!
"We need to make a larger sling. One for us to use." I arch my brow at the filly, does she mind my taking charge of the situation? My body is beginning to ache along with my head. I want to get this done quickly so I can rest.
"Rocks could be used to make the egg rise, if we settled it like a balance. But what will we make the rest of it out of?" Will it work? I suppose I should ask her what she thinks about the matter but I haven't the patience to waste time on actions that are no more than formalities. I rub my head on my right foreleg, doing my best to press the pain from my head. I feel like I have spoken an exceptional amount. I am ready to settle into someplace silent.
