Anna's Artists Chat Thread
- Thread starter lilmillefleur
- Start date
Shiloh!
I need to see your kitty.Shiloh!
ohI need to see your kitty.
I had to give him back to his foster mom a while back
Aww. That’s understandable. I thought you had adopted him.
Oh I did adopt him
He was literally mine for a few days until my brother ruined everything
Hopefully I can re-adopt him or something once my brother moves out :/ which I don’t know if Ramses will still be available till then
Sapphire Sebright
Roman Catholic who won't shut up
- Jun 22, 2019
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The shadow almost looks like someone drew an eraser through a pencil smudge -- it looks kind of cool.
It almost looks like it could be a little cape, or something -- the bottom part does, at least.
My thoughts exactly. XD
It only shows up so much because the scanner makes the contrast really high.
I did some changes. I like it more, but there are still some bits I don’t like. For example “black caps” is something my grandpa calls black raspberries and I think they would fit Zephyr’s language, but I don’t know how to integrate it but still cause the reader to understand.
Peregrine dodged a tree, pumping his wings an excessive amount. He lurched in flight as the basket he gripped in his claws swung violently to the side. He navigated the forest shakily, eyes flashing back and forth, breathing hard.
There. Not far ahead was a branch with a teardrop-shaped hut hanging from it, woven from leaves and undeniably Canary make. As the hut came into view, he dropped in flight. The long and poorly executed flight had him sapped of energy.
He made a last desperate thrust against gravity as he dragged himself through the hole, collapsing on the floor.
An elderly bird—Peregrine knew her name was Zephyr— was staring at some oddly colored leaves on the wall when he came in. She inspected the contents of the basket beside Peregrine, clicking her beak with satisfaction. Then she peered at Peregrine who appeared to be doing his best puddle impression. When he heard her chuckling, he drew himself to his full height—which wasn’t very significant.
“Hey!” Peregrine’s voice gave an adolescent squeak. “I can barely carry myself yet, let alone a whole basket on the side!” He preened his brand-new feathers and got a mouthful of fluff. Barely a fledgling, Peregrine was still pudgy with bits of chick-down stuck all over his patchy brown feathers.
Peregrine peered into the basket and swelled with pride. It was full of black raspberries. I didn’t drop any.
“So! What are these for, and what is your name, chick?” Zephyr asked, pointing to the berries with her foot.
“My name is Peregrine, and Sage wanted me to deliver this to you, Zephyr,” Peregrine explained.
“Thank you, dear chick, and thank Sage for me,” Zephyr said.
“Not a problem!” Peregrine said, even though it had been a problem.
Peregrine watched with interest Zephyr reached into the basket and swallowed a berry. She closed her eyes, clicking her beak.
Peregrine watched her eat a few more berries and became less interested when she didn’t offer him any. Peregrine’s eyes wandered the room while Zephyr droned on about how “would you believe that this is my first taste of the ‘black cap’ crop this season?” and how ‘black caps’ were her favorite food. Peregrine nodded along but he had completely zoned out by the time she told him how boring nuts and grubs got when you had eaten them all winter.
He saw a little wooden writing-desk and a roost along the wall, but the furniture barely registered when he realized that what he had originally thought were funny-colored leaves on the wall were actually feathers. Blacks and greys speckled with red framed one that sat in the middle, huge and scarlet.
She’s clearly gone senile, Peregrine thought. That’s gross, collecting other birds’ feathers. Despite his aversion to the feathers, Peregrine’s gaze kept getting drawn back to where the red feather hung.
Zephyr trailed off when she saw where Peregrine was looking and possessively preened the feather back into the place.
“That was my mate’s feather,” Zephyr said. “His name was Delo. He was a great warrior. And he was one of the last of the red canaries, a great race. They were as good as you or I.” Zephyr appeared bitter all of a sudden. “But all that all meant nothing. Now he is dead, along with all of our chicks.” When she swept a wing at the other feathers and they fluttered in the puff of wind she created.
“Wow, that’s terrible, I’m really sorry.” Peregrine said, not sure what else to say. She really did look like she needed a hug. But Peregrine’s skepticism battled with his sympathy. The whole story seemed contrived, and Zephyr seemed like the sort who would make up anything for attention. She probably found a cardinal feather and made up a story to go with it. Also, Peregrine doubted any canary, red or no, would find a mate in someone who used the feathers of their dead relatives as wall hangings.
“I’m sorry too,” Zephyr said. The next few moments were spent staring at toes.
With his breath having come back, and Zephyr being somewhat creepy, Peregrine thought it would be appropriate to leave. The awkward silence only solidified his decision. “Well, goodbye, then. Enjoy your berries,” he said, slipping through the door.
“Goodbye, and don’t forget to give my thanks to Sage,” Zephyr replied.
“I will!”
Peregrine took off and began the unsteady flight home. He heard something like a warbler’s song, but with a melancholy note. The words to the song were about battle, honor, and death, though Peregrine only caught fragments of it. It was beautiful, a song only a canary could sing. Zephyr was singing to the feathers on the wall.
There. Not far ahead was a branch with a teardrop-shaped hut hanging from it, woven from leaves and undeniably Canary make. As the hut came into view, he dropped in flight. The long and poorly executed flight had him sapped of energy.
He made a last desperate thrust against gravity as he dragged himself through the hole, collapsing on the floor.
An elderly bird—Peregrine knew her name was Zephyr— was staring at some oddly colored leaves on the wall when he came in. She inspected the contents of the basket beside Peregrine, clicking her beak with satisfaction. Then she peered at Peregrine who appeared to be doing his best puddle impression. When he heard her chuckling, he drew himself to his full height—which wasn’t very significant.
“Hey!” Peregrine’s voice gave an adolescent squeak. “I can barely carry myself yet, let alone a whole basket on the side!” He preened his brand-new feathers and got a mouthful of fluff. Barely a fledgling, Peregrine was still pudgy with bits of chick-down stuck all over his patchy brown feathers.
Peregrine peered into the basket and swelled with pride. It was full of black raspberries. I didn’t drop any.
“So! What are these for, and what is your name, chick?” Zephyr asked, pointing to the berries with her foot.
“My name is Peregrine, and Sage wanted me to deliver this to you, Zephyr,” Peregrine explained.
“Thank you, dear chick, and thank Sage for me,” Zephyr said.
“Not a problem!” Peregrine said, even though it had been a problem.
Peregrine watched with interest Zephyr reached into the basket and swallowed a berry. She closed her eyes, clicking her beak.
Peregrine watched her eat a few more berries and became less interested when she didn’t offer him any. Peregrine’s eyes wandered the room while Zephyr droned on about how “would you believe that this is my first taste of the ‘black cap’ crop this season?” and how ‘black caps’ were her favorite food. Peregrine nodded along but he had completely zoned out by the time she told him how boring nuts and grubs got when you had eaten them all winter.
He saw a little wooden writing-desk and a roost along the wall, but the furniture barely registered when he realized that what he had originally thought were funny-colored leaves on the wall were actually feathers. Blacks and greys speckled with red framed one that sat in the middle, huge and scarlet.
She’s clearly gone senile, Peregrine thought. That’s gross, collecting other birds’ feathers. Despite his aversion to the feathers, Peregrine’s gaze kept getting drawn back to where the red feather hung.
Zephyr trailed off when she saw where Peregrine was looking and possessively preened the feather back into the place.
“That was my mate’s feather,” Zephyr said. “His name was Delo. He was a great warrior. And he was one of the last of the red canaries, a great race. They were as good as you or I.” Zephyr appeared bitter all of a sudden. “But all that all meant nothing. Now he is dead, along with all of our chicks.” When she swept a wing at the other feathers and they fluttered in the puff of wind she created.
“Wow, that’s terrible, I’m really sorry.” Peregrine said, not sure what else to say. She really did look like she needed a hug. But Peregrine’s skepticism battled with his sympathy. The whole story seemed contrived, and Zephyr seemed like the sort who would make up anything for attention. She probably found a cardinal feather and made up a story to go with it. Also, Peregrine doubted any canary, red or no, would find a mate in someone who used the feathers of their dead relatives as wall hangings.
“I’m sorry too,” Zephyr said. The next few moments were spent staring at toes.
With his breath having come back, and Zephyr being somewhat creepy, Peregrine thought it would be appropriate to leave. The awkward silence only solidified his decision. “Well, goodbye, then. Enjoy your berries,” he said, slipping through the door.
“Goodbye, and don’t forget to give my thanks to Sage,” Zephyr replied.
“I will!”
Peregrine took off and began the unsteady flight home. He heard something like a warbler’s song, but with a melancholy note. The words to the song were about battle, honor, and death, though Peregrine only caught fragments of it. It was beautiful, a song only a canary could sing. Zephyr was singing to the feathers on the wall.
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