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 Posted: Mon Apr 12, 2010 6:13 pm
Somewhere nestled deep within the swamp lied a large, irregularly shaped patch of mud. Upon this patch of mud, there often worked a dark-coated Kimeti, who had been named in his dreams Would I Could. Having little else with which to occupy his time - apart from the standard trials and tribulations of survival in the swamp - he often sculpted the small mud flat into a series of curved ridges and valleys. Sometimes, when he was feeling ambitious, they made a sort of large glyph that represented something in the world around him (though to what point these were made, he did not know, as no Kimeti could view the sculpture from above to see the image). Mostly, though, his designs were abstract, as was the one he was presently occupied in creating.
He knew many other kimeti of the area, though often not by more than their appearance and, should luck be with him, their name. He made no efforts to know anyone, and noone made any efforts to know him.
That was about to change.
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Posted: Tue Apr 13, 2010 8:40 am
He worked in mud; by nature, his work was temporary, fragile, exposed. It meant that he was lucky someone didn't run through the heart of the sculpture, and only the sheer size of the swamp in comparison to the number of kimeti occupying it saving his art from destruction.
Breathless could have been the one to show that to him, could have come clomping through freshly-sculpted mud and stomping his art to dirt. It was luck that sent her eight feet west, so that she paused just a bit away to blink up at him, confused and amused both. She didn't say anything, for the time being, just stood and watched him work.
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Posted: Mon May 24, 2010 4:11 am
Involved as he was, Would I Could took no notice of his audience for some time. It was not until he took a short break to stretch his wearied neck that he saw her in the periphery of his vision. Turning to face her, he observed her carefully; a young doe, green and dull gold or orange. Slight, flighty, elegantly curved in shape and in markings. With a polite dip of his head, he acknowledged her. "Hello."
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Posted: Fri Jun 04, 2010 3:15 pm
Breathless's voice suited her name; a husky alto that was more air than tone, that hung between them, that he'd have to lean forward to hear. It was also heavy with teasing, with sarcasm, with the not-quite-cruelty that she thought was her right -- nay, her duty -- as an independent young doe.
"I'm so glad to see that someone has decided to do something about that unsightly mud pile." Her tone was dry, but her eyes were laughing, teasing, her head tilted to the side.
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