a constellation falling into place
The little dove was lazily swirling her toes in the creek, perched upon a boulder that jutted out from the banks. It was a good place to rest, even better for soaking up the dying heat of the autumn sun. Her thickening coat was providing enough warmth that she was half asleep lying there. The cool water lazily caressing her toes was all that kept her from having a nap right there on the flat expanse of the warm grey stone. She let out a contented hum, chin falling onto her crossed wrists so her gaze might flick lazily over the water. It was nice to watch the tiny silver fish dart through the creek, and the ambiance of toads calling to one another was peaceful. Their conversations were a mystery to her, but that was okay. It was just nice to listen to their strange voices, croaking back and forth to one another. Her ebony tipped tassel thumped against the boulder underneath her, and she happily watched a larger fish come meandering under her nose. It moved around her shadow as it passed, smart enough to know a possible predator when it saw one. The tinier fish, mere minnows, were now growing bold enough to start nibbling at her toes. It tickled the pads of her delicate feet, and she giggled a little. She was tempted to go swimming, but she was just so comfortable here on this rock. Yawning, she flicked her wrist and dispersed the tiny fish that were curiously tickling her paw. Whiskey coloured eyes were half shut, her entire body feeling like nothing but a lump on the stone. She was warm, and sleepy, and comfy. However, she was also a little hungry. With a frown, she lifted her head with mild difficulty, looking around with bleary eyes for something that might provide an easy meal. When nothing presented itself, she let out a grumpy sigh. Come on. Hauling herself to her feet, the willowy femme leaped off into the reeds in search of a nest she could raid. Surely there were some waterfowl left, maybe some dumb ones that she could eat. There wouldn't be eggs, which was a pity. She was nearly soundless among the tall stalks, lithe and silent as the breeze among the foliage. |
Dada Shawnee
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