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02-21-2013, 06:22 PM
| Skysong |
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You are used to warmth, but you are not used to heat. It is, however, all that you have known in your world, and so it is not as unpleasant for you as it is for Mother. She is leading you somewhere, and you are excited. I can see your stubby tail wiggling, can watch as you cavort and romp and play, trotting alongside Mother one moment and jumping toward a lizard the next. You kick up your heels, sometimes running ahead, but never too far before you remember that you are alone, and you scamper back to Mother. You stick close for but a moment, and then you are off again. For the first few days, Mother tried to follow you, tried to keep up with your antics. But by now she has figured out that you aren't going to stray very far from her side. Not yet, anyway. I wonder what she would have done if she had the pair of us. But that is neither here nor there. The sea is calm, when you arrive, and I chuckle as your eyes grow wide. You don't know what to make of such a large body of water, nor do you have a clue what to call it. You have begun to pick up bits and pieces of conversation, though you are not yet very skilled at replicating words. Instead, the noises that you produce are squeals and snorts. Mother finds them endearing, and I'm sure Father would too, if he were around. I wonder where he is now, if he is keeping you safe as he has promised. I can only do so much to watch over you. Your spindly legs begin to move now, cautiously at first. You are hiding behind mother as she walks lazily down the beach. The sun and the heat press down on you, and you watch the waves as the lap softly at the shoreline. Mother knows that it is safe to swim here, especially on a day like today when the currents are so still. You trot a few steps towards the water, dance backwards, back to Mother's side. You're not very used to your hooves yet, though, and you slip, stumbling a few paces; you leap into a canter back to Mother's side, almost as if to insist that you hadn't just almost fallen. A few moments later, you prance away again, this time to the water's edge. You halt, staring at it with interest. Your front legs spread wide as you dip your little cranium to the water, snort as it tickles your maw. You make an amusing picture, your rump up in the air, your tiny wings half-spread. If I could, I would run up behind you and bump you forward to splash face-first into the water. But fate had other plans for us, I'm afraid. You pick up a hoof, daintily dab at the water's surface; when it parts, you squeal with glee, half-rearing before lunging into the shallows. Your laughter is infectious, and I see Mother smile from the shore as you splash around, drenching yourself. It cools you down, and for the first time you begin to understand the concept of temperature. You are pleased with yourself, and you return to Mother proudly, as though to say, "Look at me, look what I've done!" "Talk talk talk." |
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