[ one, single hoof hits the grass, and the sudden change in terrain gets the taur’s gut (or guts?) to ice over and drop like an anchor. as fast as he was to pull back like he would if he stuck one of his limbs into a furnace and back on the cement, he’s done it. he’s stepped on the grass. oh no the poor grass— ]
I’m sorry— Shit— [ he seems to be regaining equilibrium, with less stumbling, but he sees the girl as correct in her insult. both his hands cradle his head with growing anxiety, on of his hooves hitting the concrete path with the same agitation his fur and scales shifted with. ] What do I do now?
no subject
I’m sorry— Shit— [ he seems to be regaining equilibrium, with less stumbling, but he sees the girl as correct in her insult. both his hands cradle his head with growing anxiety, on of his hooves hitting the concrete path with the same agitation his fur and scales shifted with. ] What do I do now?
[ he’s— he’s looking at the grass.
he’s mourning grass. ]