Dawnlark Plains v. "hope is the thing with feathers - that perches in the soul"

She plunged through the waters, cool liquid sloshing up and over to conceal her creamy form in its depths. Beneath the stream's surface, she twisted and turned, allowing the coating of mud to melt from her piebald pelt. 

With a strong kick against the stone-strewn bed, Elve surfaced with a soft gasp - blinking droplets of water from her cerulean eyes. 

It would have been hard to miss the mocha femme on the banks. Regardless, her heart leapt into her throat as her gaze locked upon jade orbs on the opposite bank. 

Elve paddled to the shore, treading water as she padded to the bank's edge - careful not to spray her newfound company as she shook the water from her freshly cleaned coat. 

At last, she turned to the woman with a bow of her buttery crown. "T'is woman greets you," she rasped welcomingly, feathery plume wagging faintly.