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I P O M O E A ”Come, Ipo, it’s beginning to rain!” He was tempted to ignore the voice in his mind, to continue his inspection of the climbing plant. Lathyrus odoratus. Sweet pea flowers. He whispered the name to himself repeatedly, determined to brand the plant into his memory in every way possible. Ipomoea had his nose pressed right up against them, the pinnate petals brushing softly against his cheek as he did. But Odet rarely spoke; this alone was reason enough to take notice when he did. Reluctance showing plainly on his face, Ipomoea pulled himself away from the wall of flowers. Already, his songbird bonded had nestled himself deep within the loose mane at the base of Po’s neck, building up a sort of wall to protect himself from the droplets of rain splashing down every few minutes. It’s hardly raining… He dared not comment so out loud, for Odet wielded a sharp beak when he wanted, but he couldn’t help the disappointment clouding his mind. Of course, no sooner than he had thought it, did the rain begin to come down in earnest. Flattening his ears in resignation, Ipomoea trudged along in the direction of the Dawn Court. It wasn’t long before the outline of another horse, pale and mottled, became visible through the thin curtain of rain. The figure was directly in his way; but Po made no move to go around him. His spotted ears flickered forwards, rain drops sliding off the petals around his forehead and down onto his face. He slowed respectfully as he got closer, the stranger’s soft murmurs reaching out towards him across the forest. “Yes, it is,” he murmured back, equally soft. He wasn’t sure if they were talking about the rain, or the forest, or perhaps some other abstract thing that had caught the other man’s attention; but either way, Po’s response would have been the same. He came up alongside him, peeking a glance at his face to see what direction he was looking, before he fixed his own gaze just as serenely towards the forest. A moment of silence passed between them, and then Ipomoea was speaking again, his voice still hushed and amiable. “Do you always make trips outside to stand in the rain?” @ |
neverrmind art
