s w a h i l i
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
The summer air was always a welcome experience to the desert rose. The way it seemed to wrap around her and warm her through and through. The mugged humidity that was brought on from the oasis at least offered a bit of relief, particularly with the occasional gust of wind that would sweep through. All of these factors always worked together in a way Swahili could enjoy with in the depths of the cavern system that led to her open-air grotto as well. And wasn't the grotto her best, her favorite find. When she had first discovered it so many weeks ago . . . it had been nothing more than a secreted cavern in the maze of caves. But the open atmosphere provided by the holes that allowed the environment to stream in through the open roof. It had certainly done the grotto favors aplenty, with the numerous flowering vines and plants that were flourishing from both the sun, as well as the shade the grotto walls created. With the small pond of water from drained rainfall; the area had quickly been snuck up by the little mare.
It wasn't too much of a surprise to imagine how she'd changed it for her own enjoyment. The pillows of soft silk and chiffon. Those same bolts of fabric used to drape against the walls, over the roofing to provide additional shade from the hottest parts of the day. The rugs that now colored the floor in comfort. It was a variety of super comfortable aspects that truly make this little grotto her home-away-from-home.
And then it was being intruded upon. The faintest hints of hooves could be heard echoing along the many tunnel systems this odd collection of grottos, caverns, and tunnels that made up the system she'd discovered. An intruder. A stranger. Worse still was when that voice called out, and instantly, the little desert dove was practically plastered flat against the soft silks of the pillows she was leaning into, her eyes narrowing at the cloth-covered entrance to her grotto with the sort of trepidation one is likely to experience in the face of the unknown. Just because it was a feminine voice that called out, demanding that someone to be there (which there was, Swa herself was indeed in the systems), Swa had no idea if this mare was truly alone, if there were any others stalking these caverns, and so Swahili chooses to remain quiet, to wait . . . Just in case the intruder truly didn't have friendly thoughts in mind.
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Delphine
Notes: <3
