falling from grace on silver wings Posted on April 17, 2013 at 11:17:19 PM by OWL
Her wandering had decreased greatly in the most recent days. As the days shortened and the morning chill lingered a little longer toward the afternoon, the dark brown woman had slowly started to cling closer and closer to the fringes of the herd. She still clung awkwardly to the edge of the group, ears flickering constantly above her bright, worried eyes. Her first meeting with the entire herd had not gone as well as she had hoped and her general embarrassment over the matter was enough to keep her at a safe distance from any further interactions that could go sour.
She grazed quietly in the early morning fog, ears trained toward the soft murmurs that filtered through the mist and trees from the other mares. She felt at peace, obscured as she was in the fog and fading leaves of the forest, as if she were on her own again. Her wanderlust feet ached to carry on, to keep traveling to places and things unseen, but with winter creeping ever closer, she knew instinctually that to leave now would be most unwise. There was also the small matter of her growing attachment to the herd she hovered quietly about. Although she knew very little of them in a personal sense, she had grown accustomed to hearing their distinctive voices and noses, smelling their unique, sweet scents, and seeing their familiar, yet strange, faces.
Engrossed in her task of nourishing her now slightly fuzzy body, the mare almost missed the stallion's call. For a moment, she stood frozen with bits of grass still tucked into her cheeks as she listened. When it became apparent that no conversation had changed or started, she carefully went to investigate. Lifting and placing her hooves daintily between the many fallen logs and slick leaves, the mare moved as quietly and quickly as possible toward the herd. Soon enough, dark bodies took shape through the fog, including the rusty body of the stallion that lingered at the edge of the herd. Nervous, but increasingly curious, Owl crept closer to him, ears pressed back toward her neck slightly as she finally extended her muzzle in greeting, as she had been taught was appropriate.
Breathing a soft plume of steamy breath toward the stallion, she waited until they had exchanged scents before her small, bird-voice crept from her throat, "Good morning, sir." Replies: