There was a bite to the air that he knew only by instinct, a cold wind that promised storms. The skies were still clear - mostly. A few specters dotted the sky, their undersides grey but not threateningly so. It was the horizon that had turned dark, but it seemed far enough away that he had naught to fear.
Or so it would seem.
The colt crossed the fields without a worry in the world, a carefree heart putting a bounce in his step. The sedges and tall grasses reached up to caress his belly and sides as he passed, seeming to swallow his legs whole as he wade through a sea of green. Occasionally he stopped to snack, or to examine a particularly bright wildflower - they grew in patches of yellow and purple and white, their powdery pollen tickling his nose when he inhaled deeply. He whispered their names to himself: Boneset, Ironweed, Rabbit-ear Iris, Daylily…
He thought he saw a flower wave at him as he turned to leave - he ran back in excitement, not quite knowing what he expected it to do (dance? sing? tell him a story?). But the flower simply bobbed in the wind alongside all the others, and after standing there for far too long waiting for something spectacular to happen, he finally continued on his way.
Not that he was certain where his way was taking him. Ipomoea had been in the Dusk Court for a week now, wandering its wet meadows and wetter swamps. The wildlife was lush here, and full of plants he had never seen before; he had gone to the library his first day here, and checked out a book that detailed the many flora and fauna he could find here. He would have asked for a journal, as well; but he had not the silver to spare.
For all means and purposes, Ipomoea was lost. The Sussuro fields seemed endless, a sea of tall grass that stretched on as far as his eyes could see. There was no doubt in his mind that he had been down this stretch of it before - but it all looked the same, he could hardly tell which way was which. Not that he was worried much by that fact. He was not yet two, but he had spent plenty of his early days wandering the world of Novus. Without a home to return to, he would continue to wander.
It was while he was passing a stray tree that he heard the chirping, a normally ordinary noise now sounding frantic and alarmed. Curious, the appaloosa colt turned towards the tree, ears swiveling in every direction trying to locate the sound. He pressed his nose to the tree, following it all the way to the ground - and suddenly caught the scent of a bird, as his breath puffed over the small avian.
“Oh - hello there.”
The bird was pressed into a nook in the tree, one wing flopped awkwardly at his side. The other wing kept beating, trying to fly, but to no avail. Ipomoea’s own wings beat anxiously at his fetlocks. “Don’t hurt yourself, please, it’s okay -“ the words became his mantra as he leaned in closer, lowering his gangly body down to the bird’s height.
He’s not sure if the bird stopped out of exhaustion, or trust. But slowly, gently, he was able to reach into the cranny and draw the creature out.
As the wind began to pick up, and stray drops of rain began to strike his head and back, Ipomoea drew the small songbird close. “It’s okay…” he said again, his voice little more than a whisper, feeling soft feathers press against his chest. “I’ll keep you warm. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
He knew what it was alike to be alone, and afraid. Being careful to shield his new friend from the worst of the wind and rain, Ipomoea went searching for help.
Or so it would seem.
The colt crossed the fields without a worry in the world, a carefree heart putting a bounce in his step. The sedges and tall grasses reached up to caress his belly and sides as he passed, seeming to swallow his legs whole as he wade through a sea of green. Occasionally he stopped to snack, or to examine a particularly bright wildflower - they grew in patches of yellow and purple and white, their powdery pollen tickling his nose when he inhaled deeply. He whispered their names to himself: Boneset, Ironweed, Rabbit-ear Iris, Daylily…
He thought he saw a flower wave at him as he turned to leave - he ran back in excitement, not quite knowing what he expected it to do (dance? sing? tell him a story?). But the flower simply bobbed in the wind alongside all the others, and after standing there for far too long waiting for something spectacular to happen, he finally continued on his way.
Not that he was certain where his way was taking him. Ipomoea had been in the Dusk Court for a week now, wandering its wet meadows and wetter swamps. The wildlife was lush here, and full of plants he had never seen before; he had gone to the library his first day here, and checked out a book that detailed the many flora and fauna he could find here. He would have asked for a journal, as well; but he had not the silver to spare.
For all means and purposes, Ipomoea was lost. The Sussuro fields seemed endless, a sea of tall grass that stretched on as far as his eyes could see. There was no doubt in his mind that he had been down this stretch of it before - but it all looked the same, he could hardly tell which way was which. Not that he was worried much by that fact. He was not yet two, but he had spent plenty of his early days wandering the world of Novus. Without a home to return to, he would continue to wander.
It was while he was passing a stray tree that he heard the chirping, a normally ordinary noise now sounding frantic and alarmed. Curious, the appaloosa colt turned towards the tree, ears swiveling in every direction trying to locate the sound. He pressed his nose to the tree, following it all the way to the ground - and suddenly caught the scent of a bird, as his breath puffed over the small avian.
“Oh - hello there.”
The bird was pressed into a nook in the tree, one wing flopped awkwardly at his side. The other wing kept beating, trying to fly, but to no avail. Ipomoea’s own wings beat anxiously at his fetlocks. “Don’t hurt yourself, please, it’s okay -“ the words became his mantra as he leaned in closer, lowering his gangly body down to the bird’s height.
He’s not sure if the bird stopped out of exhaustion, or trust. But slowly, gently, he was able to reach into the cranny and draw the creature out.
As the wind began to pick up, and stray drops of rain began to strike his head and back, Ipomoea drew the small songbird close. “It’s okay…” he said again, his voice little more than a whisper, feeling soft feathers press against his chest. “I’ll keep you warm. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
He knew what it was alike to be alone, and afraid. Being careful to shield his new friend from the worst of the wind and rain, Ipomoea went searching for help.
hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you
i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy
@Random Events ! thank you @
”here am i!“
