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I P O M O E A The shade of the forest was a welcome reprieve from the hear of summer, cool and dark and quiet within the foliage. It was as if Ipomoea had entered a whole new world, vastly different from the one he’d been in only moments before. This world was one filled with a hundred shades of green, and a thousand more vibrant colors shining in the petals and blossoms of the flowers crowded at the base of every tree, their heady aroma rising up to envelope him in a feeling he could only describe as safety. For a moment, all he could do was stop and take it in with bright and eager pink eyes. The delicate skin lining edges of his nares quivered in anticipation, the speckled wings nestled upon his ankles fanning his legs with cool air in unrestrained excitement. There were so many new things to see—so many distractions that tempted him, called to him, begged him to come forth and examine the spider web hanging between those two trees, or to inspect the strange, toothed plant that appeared to be eating flies and other insects whole. To find patterns which the leaves overhead cast with their shadows on the ground below, or to trace the petals on those impossibly large flowers with his muzzle to determine in they really were as soft as they looked. But he resisted—with no small amount of effort. He had business today: he was looking for someone he’d only met once before, who had cried to him over the loss of a partner, who he had helped pick flowers with. He wondered vaguely how the slender man was doing, and whether or not he’d found whom he was looking for: Ipomoea had continued to look, in the time since they’d parted, but with no luck. But he didn’t want to think on such things today, just in case the news turned out to be bad. He wanted to be happy today! That was what summer was about, was it not? The joys of freedom, of free-spiritedness. The trail he was on weaved and dipped and climbed, seeming more like a random course through the trees than a deliberate pathway, stomped with the scarce hoof prints of the horses who had come before him. Ipomoea did not mind; it felt like an adventure, each new curve something new to explore. It kept his mind busy, but in an exciting way. Lately his life had been sorely lacking in creative outlets, prompting him to take full advantage of the quiet of the forest today. A flash of white caught his attention up ahead, a body moving slowly through the trees. His ears pricked forward sharply at the observation, legs snapping up in a high-spirited trot to bring him closer, to close the distance. “Eros!” he called out when he was reasonably sure of the figure who continued to walk away from him, the long yellow tail and the hairless crest sticking out to him now. “Is that you up there?” Hopefully it was. Though if it wasn’t, perhaps he’d simply make a new friend. It was a win-win, really. At least, that's how Ipomoea would choose to look at it. @eros xx ”here am i!“ |
neverrmind art
