Little fish, big pond...

Zahra & Ilham

It was pride that turned angels into devils

All of a sudden there she is, the foal who had screeched blue-murder through the forest. 

Eyes behold the whelp with proper caution as she stumbles forward from the murk, but as initial inspection concludes, Zahra can find no wound or similar upon her which might have endorsed such a foul noise. All legs were accounted for, each was lanky and symmetrically coloured. Wings, too small to be useful, were pressed, fully feathered to each flank - and she noted that they were remarkably flawless for one so small and scrawny. So too was the bodice (in view) unblemished; though her pale gaze honed in on a small pair of fluttering wings which seemed, on all account, to be rather oddly placed… 

The face, as eyes ascended to greet it, was blue and somewhat gaunt looking, but the discerning mare found no validation all the same, through her search. 

In a slight, feathery voice, the puny creature probed for a name, and the arachnophile - hardly confident around this, impish variety - glanced away into the timber. Certainly, she was not Indra, the name that the babe had been yelling along the way. 

"Zahra..." came the mumbled response a short time later, and with brewing, visible reluctance, she looked back to the child. "Who are you?" The golden-bellied girl remembered well the pointless conversation she’d had with two foals of similar… stature, a good few weeks prior - at least until the fat broad had choked their progression. "… and why were you screaming like a godforsaken banshee?" 

Clearly discomforted by the proximity chosen by the other (the flea), Zahra slithered backwards three steps. It was her experience, that children were unpredictable and pompous, and it was with one priority alone, that she lingered all the longer. "Are you broken?" Charily her stare fixated once more, upon the wild, relentless flutter of minature wings.

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