 IPOMOEA so lay me down in golden dandelions
The silence surrounding the meadow was so heavy and so suffocating it was nearly palpable. Ipomoea stole a glance at the horses on his right: everyone was staring in shock, not at him, but at the snowman. He looked to his left also, only to see more shell shocked faces, paused mid-play. As if the world had stopped when the snowman took his first breath. At least if this was a hallucination, he wasn’t the only one experiencing it. Ipomoea breathed in slowly, eyes fluttering closed, filling his lungs to bursting. He held it for one heartbeat; then another, and another. As the pain began to take hold of his lungs, clawing its way up his throat to his dark speckled lips as if to force his airway open, he let out his breathed. And his pink eyes opened. Nope, not a dream. Everything was exactly the same, as if frozen. The only movement was the steam rising from a dozen noses whose breaths were too painful to hold. Until finally someone became brave. The dappled mare was as tall at the withers as Ipomoea was, but a pair of spiraling horns added to her height in a way the modest arrangement of flowers upon his poll never would. As if no time had passed between his coming alive and the poor reception of his joke, she added her own into the pile: ”What does it take to make an octopus laugh?” Ipomoea wanted to laugh. Some others standing nearby did, or at least tried their best to: an awkward chuckle here, an embarrassed, painful sounding cough there. None of them could match the snowman’s own hearty guffaws, bubbling up high into the air. ”Ten tickles! That’s a funny one!” he roared, falling back into a position that was akin to sitting. Finally composing himself, he looked up at the horses with an earnest smile shining in his eyes. ”Isn’t laughter just lovely?” Ipomoea found himself nodding mechanically along with him, coming slowly out of his frozen daze. ”It’s the best medicine.” Had he just spoken aloud? That voice sounded like his own, but he didn’t remember giving his lips permission to move. Messalina’s voice, quiet beside hi,, drew him from his thoughts. Subconsciously he pressed into her side for comfort, tilting one ear sideways to catch her voice. His eyes however, remained fixed on the snowman. The snowman who had bent over and was using his stick hands to gather a clump of snow together, shaping it clumsily into a ball. As Messalina’s voice died away, he raised the snowball high over his head—and hurled it directly at another horse’s shoulder, standing near the back. ”Come on, snowball fight! Don’t any of you horses know how to have fun in the winter?!” Already he was preparing his next missile. With wide eyes, Ipomoea turned his head to catch Messalina’s gaze. ”I have no idea.” He dropped his head low to the ground as he spoke, rolling together a few snowballs of his own using his nose and telekinesis. ”But maybe he’s onto something!” What harm would it do to toss some snow and humor the quirky fellow, anyway? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @adelheid @messalina, sorry for the wait! <3 |
art by neverrmind
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