T H O M A S I N
It was a surprise to Thomasin to be approached so boldly by a swan. She had fed plenty of birds in her alone time back home when she wasn’t allowed to leave the house – she was by no means an avid birdwatcher. In fact, the only birds she could call her favorite were ducks – specifically ducks that were noodle-like in shape and waddled awkwardly. So it was natural for her heart to lift when she saw the ambling avian, a genuine smile pulling at the corners of her lips as she prepared to tear more bread off.
Yet, her delight metamorphosized into curiosity as he seemed to part the sea of white fowl, and then it changed into confusion as he spoke to her. She had never heard a swan speak, and she jumped at his forthright embrace. But as he laid his head on her knee gently to avoid irritating her small scrapes, speaking of princesses and distant kingdoms, black beady eyes looking up to her with a sort of intelligence that seemed sentient. Thomasin paused in her guffawing and huffing, blinking away what tears remained before her saucer ears swiveled towards him, eating his words, and a soft chuckle rose from her throat.
“I am certainly no princess. Just a baker.” She humbly murmured. “You must be a special swan, Odile. I’ve never known a swan who could talk. Tell me, is Terrastella full of magical creatures like you?”
She knew of only one magical person to live in these lands. Perhaps the lands were abundant with pleasant surprises. The lamb shifted her gaze to the horizon, still aware she was out in the open, quietly paranoid, before redirecting her attention back to the bird.
With a sniffle, she pressed her face into her opposite leg to try and clear her bleary face. “My name is Thomasin. I’m not hurt, really, but I am a bit lost.” Both ears half-cocked in embarrassment, a sheepish expression playing on the coffee-house colors of her face.
"talking."
tagged: @Odile
