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"Oh I would not enjoy going through a first-molt again," Larkspur agreed, mentally grimacing at such a thought. Molting was already not a fun task but a first molt was utterly miserable, shedding nearly all of their down feathers at once and being forced to put up with the prickly, painful and itchy sensation of pin-feathers growing in their place, occasionally cracking leaving them rumpled and messy looking at all times. They had spent that period of their youth chewing aggressively at their wings and spitting out the dulled, discarded feathers in a generally grumpy mood until the majority had grown in. And besides... "I've grown too used to not looking like sapient dust-collector." They jolted slightly in surprise when their sibling promptly began delving its nose into the wet earth beneath their paws, a bit of discomfort at the idea of getting mud in their nostrils flaring up. They almost asked what direction this 'superb thing' was heading only to blink as a large trumpet flower took their sibling's place. "Wow," they uttered, openly impressed. The chocolate wolf reached out with their link to plants, curiously prodding the disguised form of their sibling with the power. It felt like an ordinary flower to them, not a disguised wolf - maybe a whisper that something was different, something was wrong but plants (though they were fond of them) could find wrongness in stone moved a few pawsteps to the left. On its own, it might not have registered to them that there was something wrong with it. They didn't remember their sibling being able to do that the last time they'd seen them. Was it a completely fresh ability? Or something they picked up not long after the last time they'd parted ways? "What is it like? Being a full flower?" they inquired as their sibling shifted back, absently moving closer and extending a wing in a silent offer to share warmth. Folke chose that moment to remind them of their existence, hissing lightly in response to them approaching the other wolf and quickly moving further up their body, wrapping more tightly around their upper shoulders, watching their sibling with wary curiosity. "Apologies Folke, this is my sibling - it shall do you no harm." The snake hissed uncertainly. --- Text. Speech. Thoughts. |
Muddy River
A wide ravine where a shallow, gentle river flows. Years of drought and silt deposits have built this area into a fertile delta. The river remains low and dry most of the year, staining its waters brown and creating muddy shores.
[AW] The Other Kind Of Bark