words should now bubble to thursday evening's lips; or at the very least indecipherable babbles of language learning ...but there are only feral sounds; simple and easily understood. content in his developing world of the non-verbal.
he hears words, though, outside where the buttery warm sunlight lingers. of passerby's or well wisher's, or those checking upon new snow and augur.
he tucks them away; greedily like a dragon hoarding its gold, though he desires not to use them.
without truly understanding the how or why he knows them to be important; to learn and understand even if he deigns to never partake in them.
the young dragonling hoardes all the same, snuffling what tufts remain of his cardinal feathers; a gift well and possessively loved, small pieces of feathers tangled in the longer, wispier fur of his nape like badges of crimson worn as proudly as king would wear his crown.
a peek is stolen at his mother and sister before his almost too big paws pitter-patter ( hardly as quiet and stealthy as he'd like ) towards the beckoning sunlight.
thursday evening's hunger to explore was becoming hard to quench. a young dragonling quickly becoming discontent with the small world of comfort and shadows; intimately known to him when a world of unmeasurable fortunes and adventures lay just beyond.
he hears words, though, outside where the buttery warm sunlight lingers. of passerby's or well wisher's, or those checking upon new snow and augur.
he tucks them away; greedily like a dragon hoarding its gold, though he desires not to use them.
without truly understanding the how or why he knows them to be important; to learn and understand even if he deigns to never partake in them.
the young dragonling hoardes all the same, snuffling what tufts remain of his cardinal feathers; a gift well and possessively loved, small pieces of feathers tangled in the longer, wispier fur of his nape like badges of crimson worn as proudly as king would wear his crown.
a peek is stolen at his mother and sister before his almost too big paws pitter-patter ( hardly as quiet and stealthy as he'd like ) towards the beckoning sunlight.
thursday evening's hunger to explore was becoming hard to quench. a young dragonling quickly becoming discontent with the small world of comfort and shadows; intimately known to him when a world of unmeasurable fortunes and adventures lay just beyond.
October 05, 2022, 02:54 PM
The young of herself and Mountain Boulder were bright.
This came as no surprise to her, but perhaps it would be for others who might think she and her mate simpler than the rest for their lack of speaking. There were ways to understand; her cubs were evidence of as much. With enough repetition, the point could be grasped. And though she could not speak the same, New Snow had come to understand that which she heard often enough.
Mountain Boulder, too. They knew the things that mattered.
She had not learned these things from her own family. They, like her mates own, had been of silent stock. It was later in life that she had been exposed to anything but for the guttural, feral noises of mother, father, brother, sister. But these things were the words of the wilds that all understood. Words were not needed. Not necessary.
Her children had been born to a place with more. They would learn sooner than she or Mountain Boulder ever had. But they would also be intimately familiar with their roots. All of this pleased her.
A full nights rest was not so easy to come by lately. But it was not the same as it had been when she was alone in the world. There was peace still. Her cubs were protected by the Rise, and Mountain Boulder was always near. New Snow could doze a while longer, if she wished to. But one eye opened as she heard her son make his escape. Unsure if Mountain Boulder presently hunted, she loosed a yawn before she rose to follow him outside.
New Snow looked to her son and then looked up to sniff at the wind. Nothing troublesome. She looked again to him and released a soft snort, as though to say, clear. It seemed his father might be hunting, but the scent of him was strong. The Clawan moved to gently press her muzzle against her sons forehead, an affectionate (albeit physical) 'good morning' delivered. She kept her head low, yellow eyes turning into the den to see if her daughter might follow.
This came as no surprise to her, but perhaps it would be for others who might think she and her mate simpler than the rest for their lack of speaking. There were ways to understand; her cubs were evidence of as much. With enough repetition, the point could be grasped. And though she could not speak the same, New Snow had come to understand that which she heard often enough.
Mountain Boulder, too. They knew the things that mattered.
She had not learned these things from her own family. They, like her mates own, had been of silent stock. It was later in life that she had been exposed to anything but for the guttural, feral noises of mother, father, brother, sister. But these things were the words of the wilds that all understood. Words were not needed. Not necessary.
Her children had been born to a place with more. They would learn sooner than she or Mountain Boulder ever had. But they would also be intimately familiar with their roots. All of this pleased her.
A full nights rest was not so easy to come by lately. But it was not the same as it had been when she was alone in the world. There was peace still. Her cubs were protected by the Rise, and Mountain Boulder was always near. New Snow could doze a while longer, if she wished to. But one eye opened as she heard her son make his escape. Unsure if Mountain Boulder presently hunted, she loosed a yawn before she rose to follow him outside.
New Snow looked to her son and then looked up to sniff at the wind. Nothing troublesome. She looked again to him and released a soft snort, as though to say, clear. It seemed his father might be hunting, but the scent of him was strong. The Clawan moved to gently press her muzzle against her sons forehead, an affectionate (albeit physical) 'good morning' delivered. She kept her head low, yellow eyes turning into the den to see if her daughter might follow.
October 08, 2022, 05:32 AM
though unfettered curiosity bid thursday evening to keep going, to emerge fully from the mouth of the den and into the sunlight, into the world of colors ...caution tampers it. chains it. for the time being, at any rate. still very dependent upon new snow and augur and the safety his parents offer him, he instinctively looks to them for assurances.
a peek is given over his shoulder as he hears new snow stir and rise.
tail wags a beat against the earthen floor in greeting, having reclined upon his haunches, as he watches her approach.
at the physical touch of her muzzle against his head in 'good morning' he twists and offers a 'good morning' lick to the underside of her chin in return; barely containing his excitement at the permission given moments prior.
with morning greetings out of the way, he barrels just outside the den beneath his mother's watchful eye: leaping onto a patch of sunshine as if it were prey.
a peek is given over his shoulder as he hears new snow stir and rise.
tail wags a beat against the earthen floor in greeting, having reclined upon his haunches, as he watches her approach.
at the physical touch of her muzzle against his head in 'good morning' he twists and offers a 'good morning' lick to the underside of her chin in return; barely containing his excitement at the permission given moments prior.
with morning greetings out of the way, he barrels just outside the den beneath his mother's watchful eye: leaping onto a patch of sunshine as if it were prey.
October 11, 2022, 03:07 PM
Thursday's Dawn is not quick to join them. New Snow leaves her for now, watching her son for a moment before joining him. Her eyes were bright as she watched him pounce upon the sunlight, and she thinks he has it in him already to be a good hunter. Her tail waves as she huffs happily, turning away as she presses her nose to the earth.
She is quick to find the small place she had stowed the skin @Amalia had gifted to her. New Snow was not a woman of true sentiment, and had not foreseen the use of this gift up until now. She had saved it, for one reason or another... and now, she saw it fit to gift to her son. His growing teeth could utilize it, she determined... but also, it would make good practice.
New Snow dug the prize out from where it had been stored beside the whelping den. And she trotted toward him with a happy step, shaking the skin temptingly before laying down. She hoped his curiosity would cause him to come toward her of his own volition.
She is quick to find the small place she had stowed the skin @Amalia had gifted to her. New Snow was not a woman of true sentiment, and had not foreseen the use of this gift up until now. She had saved it, for one reason or another... and now, she saw it fit to gift to her son. His growing teeth could utilize it, she determined... but also, it would make good practice.
New Snow dug the prize out from where it had been stored beside the whelping den. And she trotted toward him with a happy step, shaking the skin temptingly before laying down. She hoped his curiosity would cause him to come toward her of his own volition.
October 16, 2022, 06:02 AM
a cursory glimpse is offered to his sister's form; a silhouette in the deep shadows of the birthing den but she does not hold his attention, nor much space in his mind. there is an unfortunate disconnect between them, despite sharing a womb ...and thursday evening is morally fine with stealing their parents' attentions.
he is distracted by a fallen leaf: once a pretty emerald and now a burnt brown in its death; flaking into small pieces beneath his paw as he batters it 'round.
at least, until his mother reappears with a skin. as she dangles it before him, it catches his attention, holding it rapt. his gaze follows it, as a hunters' follows it's quarry; watching and then pouncing upon it soon after she lays it down.
he is distracted by a fallen leaf: once a pretty emerald and now a burnt brown in its death; flaking into small pieces beneath his paw as he batters it 'round.
at least, until his mother reappears with a skin. as she dangles it before him, it catches his attention, holding it rapt. his gaze follows it, as a hunters' follows it's quarry; watching and then pouncing upon it soon after she lays it down.
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »