LOLLI qAq
Always moving, never in one spot, music spurred him on. An internal beat which thrummed and hummed and ever encouraged movement. There was no cessation of inspiration; there was always a beat to dance to, a melody to put words to, a song to give voice to. In the wings of a sparrow or the croak of a bullfrog, the stampede of wild and fleeing hooves, or simply the soft caress of a whispering breeze through the swaying branches hanging over the swamp.
Thrum found creative encouragement in it all. His hooves made an accompanying percussion staccato, stomp-STOMP-stompstomping in the mud; he moved without notice if any other kin were around, or any life forms at all for that matter. His eyes were closed as he simply let the music of the swamp set him free, free to move however he felt without thought or consideration. Even if Thrum opened his eyes, his scraggly dark hair would likely be in his eyes and obscure his vision so he simply let the melodies guide him.
