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 Posted: Tue Jul 22, 2008 10:32 am
A shower of bark flakes and lichen rained down on a family of small shrew-like things, scattering them from their safe perch on the roots of a fat old tree. In the branches above, something that was obviously not built for tree climbing was struggling to get up even higher. Brackenhide, though he had been cursed with hooves, was determined to claim the topmost branches of the bare tree as his own personal lookout post. Alas, after taking a flying leap into the tree he found himself wedged firmly in a fork of branches, and very, very stuck. Kicking his hind legs against the trunk of the tree, he tried to dislodge himself, but the bark was covered in slick moss and wouldn't let him get his footing.
"Oh, I hope something big and nasty comes along and knocks you over!" The young kimeti shot over his shoulder at the tree, which clearly took to heart the sentiment that words could not harm, and didn't budge.
This was serious. If some other young buck or doe came along and saw him, wedged many shoulder heights up in the air, flailing ungracefully, he would never hear the end of it. He would have to hunt down a few hundred crocodiles just to redeem himself. His poor ego might never recover.
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Posted: Tue Jul 22, 2008 10:49 am
 A young colt would have been bad; the teasing would have been unending, the pointing, the braying laughter. Brackenhide would certainly have never lived down his adventure up into the tree, should a group of his peers have stumbled upon his unfortunate state. Of course, Nettle might not have been much better. He moved with a slow, delicate sort of grace -- his great head tilted to the side, a flicker of not-quite-nice amusement dancing in golden eyes as he stepped around the great trunk and peered up at the trapped cult. "Impotent fury." Several prancing steps off to one side. It seemed highly likely that Nettle was investigating just how bad this situation was. "It's a tree, you know. It can't hear you."
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Posted: Tue Jul 22, 2008 11:07 am
Brackenhide hadn't seen the grey body sneak up, and was startled out of his dark, tree-loathing thoughts at its first comment. He immediately stopped his pointless flailing, and tried to balance himself in the air in a way that looked nonchalant. "You don't know that. It might even be trying to keep me here out of spite. But I don't care."
The little colt craned his neck to see if the older kimeti had been with anyone else. There was still a slight chance that this mishap wouldn't have to get out, as long as there was no one else around.
"Besides, I can get down anytime I want, yeah. I'm just ... humouring it."
A fly landed on Brackenhide's snout, and he wiggled his nose furiously.
"Plus, I'm up here to look for crocodiles."
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Posted: Tue Jul 22, 2008 11:20 am
Nettle was alone. Of course he was alone -- he always was. Not that he seemed bothered by this fact; his eyes followed Brackenhide's, off behind him, like there might well have been something there that he missed out on.
But there wasn't. His attention turned back upward with an arched eyebrow, with a bright twitch of amusement in his own expression, a lacing of wickedness through the line of his mouth. "...Crocodiles can climb trees, you know."
It could've come off absurd. It could've been totally ridiculous. But something about the certainty in Nettle's voice could, perhaps, also have been convincing. "I've seen it."
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Posted: Tue Jul 22, 2008 11:42 am
Brackenhide's orange eyes widened visibly, and his neck held his head perfectly tense, so that the buck wouldn't think he cared. But inwardly, the little colt was cursing his less than stellar peripheral vision.
"That's not true." he said, trying to sound dismissive. "They're ... too fat, yeah, to climb trees."
He allowed himself to scan the swamp around him for scaley beings as he swung his head to look over his shoulder at the trunk again. If he could just reach that dry patch, he could get a firm foothold and escape.
"To climb trees you have to be nimble." Stretching out a skinny brown hind leg as far as it could go, he scuffed pieces of bark and dust into the air. Just a little bit more and he would have it.
"Like me." He added, as an afterthought.
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Posted: Tue Jul 22, 2008 11:46 am
"Oh yes, indeed, you are the pinnacle of grace." Nettle's voice took on a dry, rattling edge to it, like the taste of barely restrained laughter. He pranced sideways again, and then back, trying to reach some kind of decision.
Finally, shaking mud from the no-long-pristine white of his legs, he hopped up to rest forelegs [scrambling] against the trunk, and to clutch the very tip of one of the forked branches in his teeth.
He wasn't exactly graceful himself as he shifted and twisted, getting a firmer grip on the branch and pulling with the full force of his body. If Brackenhide was lucky, it would help free him. If he was really lucky, it would help free him without sending him crashing to the ground.
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Posted: Tue Jul 22, 2008 2:12 pm
"Aha! Got it-" Brackenhide crowed, his hoof secure against dry, moss-less bark. Just as the grey buck moved to pull at one of the branches holding him captive, he pushed off of the trunk, imagining he would jump out of his twiggy prison. Had that been the only force working against the tree, he maybe would have inched forward, freeing his torso and getting his hips stuck instead. But the branch dipped as Nettle pulled at it, and Brackenhide, seeing his chance, scrambled forward. His front hooves grazed the swamp's surface, and then the branch split away from the trunk and came crashing down in a flurry of bark and moss and brown fur.
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Posted: Tue Jul 22, 2008 3:21 pm
The tumbling branch whipped back to smack Nettle solidly across the face as Brackenhide fell -- followed almost immediately with a damp, gooey, hoof-sized splatter of foul mud.
His grey streaked and spotted with the mess from the swamps around them, his cheek stinging and burning and red beneath his fur, Nettle turned a baleful look down at the colt sprawled out in the muck beneath him, the source of this mess. He tipped his head down, trying to swipe his cheek against his shoulder, to get the hair on his chin clean, at least.
"Crocodiles. Pah."
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Posted: Wed Jul 23, 2008 3:11 pm
Brackenhide landed in the muck of the swamp with a smack, rolled a few paces away, and tried, too fast, to jump up to regain his composure. A hoof sank down into the muck, and he toppled over onto his side, pedalling his legs in the air, laughing: a braying, chortling sound.
Times like these were when being a swampy colour really came in handy. He pushed his body out of the swamp, dripping and slick, and shook his head and haunches. Mud was flung everywhere, and the longer fur of his legs and shoudlers stook up at odd angles like the were gelled up from the momentum.
"Heeh, thanks. I was getting tired of that old thing." He shot what he thought was a menacing grimace at the tree, wrinkling his snout and crinkling his eyes.
Turning back to the buck, his expression falling into one of angelic inoccence, Brackenhide bounced on his front feet, ready for a new adventure.
"You've got some mud. There, yeah." He motioned with his muzzle, pointing in the air, as people do when they're trying to be helpful but are much to vague.
{{ I'm going camping ( woo! ) from Thursday to Saturday, so Brackenhide's going to be MIA for a little while. }}
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Posted: Thu Jul 24, 2008 8:09 am
A mild look in reply; there was something almost dangerous about the cold look in Nettle's eyes, in the way he twitched his head to shake mud from the side of his face. Of course, it was quickly canceled out by the somewhat goofy rippling effect of shaking his entire body, stretching out his neck and shivering down his spine, scattering clumps of mud from his body.
And when it was done, he was still flecked horrendously.
"You've clearly had a long-distance view of the surrounding area..." His tone was a little brittle, definitely annoyed, "...so tell me, have you seen a somewhat clear pool nearby?"
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