.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
05-05-2017, 05:46 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-05-2017, 02:43 PM by Stellaluna.)
Stellaluna...
The water is cold like a leaf long pillowed on stone, but it slides down the hot length of her throat easily; it is sweet, as though born from the belly of the very land she kneels upon, or maybe the soft-flowing stream carries down snow thaw from the mountains (they’d stood sharply in the backdrop of the threshold like a snarling dog’s jaw) - both are theories she entertains, there in the quiet of the moment. Small ears waver alternately, absorbing the dim chorus of this new night-world. Mr Cricket’s lonely chirp strikes out into the darkness, but no answer follows, for the air grows cooler by the hour and his kin already sleep below ground (it is warmer there); a skitter of tiny paws in the leaf litter behind her, betray the plight of Mrs Mouse who returns to her nest with tightly packed cheeks - the bat turns curiously to see her upon crooked elbows, and they lock eyes for only a split-second before she melts away, back into the thicket. Inhaling deeply, she samples the musty, moist flavour of the forest. The damp surface of the rocks which border this stream, she notes (because she can see, with gaping, night-conscious eyes), is covered in moss and it is soft when her velvet nose dips to touch. The lichen she knows, is rough and without any strong scent, but the tang is like no other - presently, the pup’s lips peel backwards so that blunt white teeth might chip a morsel free. As she does, there is a sound across stream that couldn't possibly be the tiny toes of a mouse; a wing kisses the air and the sound is familiar, then hooves touch down and she knows that they come. One glance searches the shadows to her rear, but she presumes the giantess is still resting soundly. She crouches low upon knee and hock beside the gurgle of water, and wraps herself in jet-black membrane so that she might become more invisible. There is movement beyond, another strides down through a glade and her curious mind is enthralled to learn that he is small in stature - with wings. The nuts that had gathered about her to bath and splash, disperse suddenly, shyly, though their marsupial counterparts linger bravely in place (should there arise reason to flee, they will do so swiftly). The Platypus Twins rest their queer bills above water, beady black eyes watching, waiting, and when the stranger moves to bathe, they plop beneath to paddle closer. The bat sits motionlessly, with baited breath. He undresses, a spectacle in itself that he should be clad in anything besides hair, and the pretty melody which rings through the dingy silence only serves to feed her interest - only has she ever listened to Ma’s soothing lullaby. So engrossed does she become in his manner and the bath he begins, that she forgets to hold snugly her wings about her, and they loosen soon after to rest upon the bank. “HAY!” The bat took flight instantly - hooked thumbs seizing hold of the prickly, flimsy limb of an unsuspecting spruce nearby; the tree’s spindly top bent low beneath her weight as she climbed awkwardly aboard, it had not the strength of the old oaks previously. Glowing eyes return to the small male who stood now strangely, caught between fear and intrigue, and there, balanced as daintily as a crow on a dandelion, she anticipates his next move. "Turn on the dark, I'm afraid of the light!" |
:) Just so you know, the aussie natives and gumnut babies she sees are imaginary!
