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Flare flicked her tail in amusement, half-starting to go after Bounce, but then she heard Stormbreaker's exclamation and turned to see a mud-covered sibling. "...Oh dear," she murmured, her eyes sparkling as she nosed at Storm. "You look like someone dunked you in a mud puddle."



Searching twisted this way and that, trying to see along his sides; what he saw had him nearly prancing, his head high as he unconsciously started to show off. "I love the colors," he decided, cheerfully. "Glow, I can't wait to see how you look!"

Stormbreaker stands in the middle of his siblings, looking around a bit morosely -- and then shrugs. "I haven't found any leads. And I think I might've made one of the kimeti mad." But it won't bother him for long, truth be told -- he will shove that thought aside and wheel around, trying to get the worst of the gloppy mud off of him. But -- really. What were they thinking, holding this on a floodplain? Mud and water everywhere!

"What do we do now? I can't dance or sing." He as a good leader and often the one who mediated all of the disputes between the siblings, but that was .. about it. "I could run laps around them as they sing, but I doubt that'd be appreciated."

-*-

A tall kimeti, dour of face, has been observing the goings-on of the Games. Though he is long-legged and with a sleek black hide, he is no athlete. That much might be obvious in how he picks through the water, avoiding the muddy or deep patches, and is fastidious about keeping his gleaming black hide as clean as he can. He is somewhat distinctive, in the crowd; there are few kimeti as tall, with long, swept-back horns that only add to their height -- and with glowing violet marks across their chest that pulse in time with their heartbeat.

Eclipse, hearing the call for poets and singers, snorts softly to himself -- he can do better than some newcomer from the desert. What is there to wax poetic on in the desert? Sand? Sky? A lot of nothing -- not anything the swamp and its endless supply of shady niches, cypress knees, lurking caiman, and some of the most beautiful kimeti can provide--

Eclipse will silently glide between kimeti and kiokote, up to the rock in the middle, and blink up at the -- what was she. The kiokote had called her Red-stained Blossom.

"Are you a competitor?" The kimeti asks, in a mellifluous voice.

"A real, live, Acha," Re-wind breathed in awe as the loping newcomer gatecrashed their little gathering. Not that she had ever seen a fake, dead, Acha - but she'd never dreamed that all of a sudden, one of their brand-new desert cousins would come running up to them. A cheetah, a Kiokote, and an Acha in one day? Re-wind was in heaven.

"Oh, oh," excitedly, she trotted around the dimunitive creature, taking in every detail. From what she had heard, the pair of horns curved around its head indicated it was a buck - was it full-grown? The pitch of his voice suited a younger stage, but nothing about his demeanour did, and his size did not sound far from reports of the adults. Unlikely, too, that a colt would travel all the way from the desert; perhaps all Acha had voices so high - were these appropriate questions to ask upon a first meeting? What a beautiful rainbow tail! "Is it true," she finally burst out, unable to hold back inquiry on the rumour that had most tickled her mind since hearing of the new arrivals, "that out in the desert, Acha can go for days without water?!"

A competitor? Caught in the moment, Rouge at first thought he meant for the beautiful doe, and the killing thirst frothed in her throat - then she remembered the contest. And good thing too - that could have been bad, like that time back in the desert with the buck; that was such a pretty little thing we were fighting over, but it had you delivering fresh hares for a month while he was healing up, Rouge, old girl...he was lucky you left enough of him to heal, though. Heh.

She relaxed; the contest back in her mind, some of the swagger dissipated, and the tease returned, "Depends on who's asking - but always for you, tall, dark, and handsome." And very handsome he was too - what a bounty of delights the Swamp had hitherto proved!

Giant Moth, Ochre records the name in her memory, determined to seek out more. "Can anyone tame them?" She asks, before picking up her brush. This one is somewhat large and gets dipped into the white paint. Just as Ochre is about to touch brush to back, she hears Rogue call out. Pulling back she turns to watch the pink Acha, torn between staying and joining in. She can't dance or sing well, but if all the Acha join in maybe no one will notice. Just as Ochre decides to join, a Kimeti joins Rogue and a look Ochre has seen before fills the pink doe's eyes. Better leave her alone.. Ochre thinks.

She turns back to the blue doe before her and gets to work. Carefully she draws out a representation of the moth's wings, starting at the doe's shoulders and coming down her sides. These she fills in all white, then circles around to do a repeat of the pattern on Glow's other side. The whole process includes much stretching, Ochre should have asked Glow to kneel. Ochre also circles Glow during the second wing pattern, trying to match them up. And, of course, she stops to study the moth. "Okay, that needs to dry before I can finish." She says after putting down the brush.

Turning to Searching, Ochre gently touches his sides. "Dry enough." She says, then turns to his painting. Picking a medium brush Ochre dips it in the purple and starts tracing flowing lines over the red ochre. It does not show up exactly how she wanted, but it's too late to stop so she continues on. The lines do not have any rhythm, they simply flow however she sees fit to put them. Ochre does restrain herself, though, and does not add too many. Just a few along Searching's flanks and randomly down legs. One leg gets the lines all the way to his hoof, the other three the lines stop between knee and ankle. She backs up to look at her work. "Looks good.. Oh damn! I should have had you kneel first, for the orange. Well, if you don't mind waiting for the purple to dry I can still do it." It's not an outright question, but it's plain that Ochre wants Searching to wait so she can finish. She won't push him, though, if Searching and Glow have other things to do.

Fix clearly enjoys the attention. As it to make himself a better specimen, he draws himself upright, arches his neck just so, and daintily lifts one hoof from the ground. This causes him to totter drunkenly and so he replaces it with some care.

"Is it true that you have to drink every day?" Fix returns, carefully cultivating a mystified air. He's already spent some time socializing with the bucks selling alcohol, and having gotten answers to his questions he decides now is a good time to appear informed and superior.

The Acha was reeling around most elegantly - was this a form of dance? Did they incorporate their famous dancing right into their common movements? Questions upon questions bubbled through Re-wind's racing mind, but when she was asked one, to reply was almost automatic: "It depends on your definition of drink - kimeti do require a certain volume of regular water intake for optimum functioning, but if to 'drink' is limited to direct consumption of liquid, then it could be said a kimeti need hardly drink at all, if such means be necessary; much of the moisture an average kimeti requires can be obtained from an enterprising diet. However you approach the matter though, it is likely true that our bodies are hardly as suitable for dry living as yours, and most of us will drink readily of clear water. Certainly I myself would be rather miserable if I could find no pool to lap from! I have heard that in the long stretches of desert sand, cacti are your only recourse for moisture - oh, tell us, how does a cactus taste? Is it like the plants, or fruits, we have here in the swamp?"

The doe's headbutt caught him by surprise -- mouth dropping open as he inclined his head, flowers falling to the ground. Without moving his head, his eyes dropped to take in the small petals and he thought it was a shame they'd be trampled now. His attention rose back to the doe, a nodding motion accompanying the simple sentence, "I'm always lost." He smiled as though pleased by that.

A stifled choking mew could be heard (apparently the cat understood that word and knowing how true it was found the feline trying not to snicker in amusement -- or maybe he had a hairball) as the not-kimeti were revealed to be Acha. Did that mean they were not babies?

"My mother can sing," Travels interjected and then paused, "or maybe that was her hound..." His brows seemed to furrow as he attempted to suss out the memory, faded as it was, before shaking his head. No matter. A grin spread over his mouth suddenly, "Cat can sing."

Guide seemed to know that word, too, for his body quivered. The eyes narrowed and mouth opened partially to allow a decidedly not friendly yowl to venture from its throat. He did not seem to find amusement in the idea like the buck did. And he was not going to sing; he wasn't.