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Larue
Larue bounded in the cooler weather, her brightly teal eyes peeled wide as she watched the myriad of colors that painted the trees. There was little that escaped her awed eyes. The lemony filly had ventured once more into the Deep Forest, undeterred (in fact, she was rather encouraged) by her previous encounter with the vampress mare. The fires had cleared out patches to the thick trees; though the cooling weather brought the color that so enraptured her attention.
All except one tree in particular was full of vibrancy. This tree—a large and regal spruce—sprouted proudly (nobly) amid the sea of dying, worn out trees. Though it’s regality was lost upon the filly, the small prize nestled amongst its roots and protected by its needles was not lost on the tiny trickster.
She snorted, pink-stained nostrils flaring, as her lemon-flavored ears swing forward. Though her neck was growing into yearling-dom, her frame was still small and slight; a gift from both her parents. Her gem-like eyes glanced furtively around, looking at those who had already gathered around the stately tree. Her dark flaxen mane twitched in anticipation—what would happen next?
Her bright gaze landed on a colt she recognized from the herd meeting. She had been bored and tried to run off with him, only to be thwarted by mother’s promotion. Her tiny body sidled up alongside his winged, dark one, “Hey!” her whisper was loud, “Hey! What’s going on?” Her small, candy-horned skull darted from the egg to Virga.
But the filly was prone to movement and impatients. And, unfortunately, she had not yet come to fully respect the powerful prickle of the spruce needles. So she pushed forward, closer, leaving the shadows to mimic the bold approach of the colt with bull horns and wings. Though his language caused her reckless approach to pause; “It’s an egg, duh. Who’re you?” Her eyes left the egg for a moment, thoughts of running right up to it abandoned…for the moment.
All except one tree in particular was full of vibrancy. This tree—a large and regal spruce—sprouted proudly (nobly) amid the sea of dying, worn out trees. Though it’s regality was lost upon the filly, the small prize nestled amongst its roots and protected by its needles was not lost on the tiny trickster.
She snorted, pink-stained nostrils flaring, as her lemon-flavored ears swing forward. Though her neck was growing into yearling-dom, her frame was still small and slight; a gift from both her parents. Her gem-like eyes glanced furtively around, looking at those who had already gathered around the stately tree. Her dark flaxen mane twitched in anticipation—what would happen next?
Her bright gaze landed on a colt she recognized from the herd meeting. She had been bored and tried to run off with him, only to be thwarted by mother’s promotion. Her tiny body sidled up alongside his winged, dark one, “Hey!” her whisper was loud, “Hey! What’s going on?” Her small, candy-horned skull darted from the egg to Virga.
But the filly was prone to movement and impatients. And, unfortunately, she had not yet come to fully respect the powerful prickle of the spruce needles. So she pushed forward, closer, leaving the shadows to mimic the bold approach of the colt with bull horns and wings. Though his language caused her reckless approach to pause; “It’s an egg, duh. Who’re you?” Her eyes left the egg for a moment, thoughts of running right up to it abandoned…for the moment.
Spoke to @Virga and @Arakh
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