.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
05-08-2017, 01:32 PM
Stellaluna...
Enormous prickles, spikes even (though very different to those glistening before her now), are the best defence of Thorny Hovea too. She is small, a sparse, ordinary looking shrub, who stands resiliently above rocky, weatherbeaten outcrops; as the feeling arises, the old plant throws forth upon her wicked, wiry arms, the most delightful lavender blooms. The bat wonders while she listens - ears nestled pensively across their bed of dense mane, whether the ‘edge’ beyond the glass wall is similarly modest, unsung; whether it too blossoms in the face of merciless wilds and adversity. In her experience (though narrow the belt), the hardest-done-by in the bush are often the most beautiful of all. As the note of the giantess’ song begins to dissipate, so too does the little pup’s memory come to a close. Already her eyes have beheld a small part of the marvellous Helovia, the phenomenon therein that holds the potential to challenge even her very vivid view of the world. Sparkling eyes plunge down through the wood to find the murky monochrome contours of the other’s face, but they do not linger for long - she is a will-o’-the-wisp, unbound by the chains of gravity, a flame dancing in the wind. Wings feel the thrill of chill breath as they open and sharp, icy fingernails rake the warm girth underneath; her skin trembles, and so does her mind, energised. Soft whiskers brush against the craggy, rough surface of Old Juniper’s stiff arm and he shudders visibly as she flaps away through the dark. Beyond the glass, there is a soft glow - pale, pure, and though its curious quality draws her interest, the young creature yawns broadly, as though it triggers a clock within; the time to sleep lingers ever nearer. Perhaps it's the lethargy nagging her sensibility, or possibly that the true nature of glass was beyond her comprehension; the little bat drives forward into the jagged, ‘see-through’ wall with gusto. A shocked cry slips by her lips as she flails clumsily, confusedly down and with a thud, she collides with unyielding, unfriendly earth. Upon crooked, unobliging knees the little bat stumbles away swiftly, seeking the shadowy figure whom, over time, she has come to trust; then she buries herself there between lean white socks and folds about herself the black sanctuary and cosy comfort of leather. “It struck me?” she murmurs as blood courses through her aching skull; though a bump is swift to rise, she says nothing of it, and waits warily for Lyanna to make the next move. "Turn on the dark, I'm afraid of the light!" |
@Lyanna - would it be alright Lyanna mentions responsibilities please so that Stella can join the Philosophers?
