[SOLO] The Mistaken [Bitter End] to a Long Furby

[Maxx]

[imgleft]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... uncert.png[/imgleft]There was something in the eyes of that creature - that she learnt was the ungainly relative to the 'furby,' as opposed to "a hairy caveworm" as told to her by an earnest and bewildering doe - that touched the ever-wild part of her, invoking the familiar sense of primal fear and despair. Bitter End was no stranger to those feelings, having held it within her for as long as she had known, as long as she had feared, and accepted death. As long as she had accepted those shortcomings, fearing and accepting death.

Fearing and accepting the will of the Motherfather, and the vagaries of swamp life, ever lurking to life, ever lurking to die.

And she was but one of those creatures, ever lurking to live, and die, however she could. And so, she had recently accepted routine and mild interest in the vagaries of life, than to contemplate the meaning of it, and the meaning of death. After all, her good friend had returned, eyes glowing, form renewed - it was easy to slip into routine, and carefree roaming.

It was remarkable then, that this particular terrible, furry, lengthy monster, had touched that primal part of her again, its eyes cocked and wild, its vacuous expression complete with that sturdy, dangerous, beaked maw. It was the caveworm that captured her acceptance of death, and it was this creature that reminded her to respect her fear of it.

She had told her good friend about it. Sleepless was as fascinated as she had expected, but they had yet to find another in the wild quite yet. Her good friend could be patient, she knew, but Bitter End herself was perturbed by the inability to show her, to share that primal knowledge that was the long furby.

Little limbs, but soft. Little limbs, as strong. Little limbs, no less terrifying as the little limbs she knew as a caveworm, but no longer a carapace - hairy, warm, muscled. Perhaps even more terrifying. She felt it in her bones, to the ends of her little limbs, as she had scurried away from the scene. Unsettled, fearful, intrigued, confused.

She had blasphemously said that it was the Motherfather's mistake. Yet, here she was, proof that...perhaps...the Motherfather made no mistakes.

The Motherfather merely made.

And she was but one of Her creations.

Furry, soft. She had her scales, but her core - furry, soft. Scared, but terrifying. She had scared does, bucks, foals and grown kin. Little limbs, she knew the feeling. Little limbs, wriggling. Her soft core, stretching. Untenable, terrifying, strange. Primal.

She looked down.

Little feet, soft, terrifyingly prehensile. Her stomach, furry, furrier than her own soft belly. She clicked her jaw, it clicked, but not in that reptilian way. Not quite mandibles. She clicked more, then realised it was the familiar click of a beak, that sound she'd heard from twittering songbirds, soaring eagles, and...

They were not the only ones with beaks.

A furry 'caveworm' ready to pupate.

She did not realise perhaps it was her, who was ready to pupate.

A primal rush of fear woke her from the dream, and she felt alive as she gasped for air, having fallen into the marshy pool in Sleepless' patch of swamp.

So the Motherfather had chided her.

The long furby is no mistake.