Impulsive Writing

Petitanna🌷

The earth grew cold as the petite creature traced her delicate fingers against the soil of the tunnel. When she had ventured down the moist burrow earlier, the female had sworn she had heard a sad chirp of wanting.

The frightened tone was too familiar for the nubile critter to endure. And the teeny beauty knew she had to find where the pleading had come from.

As the gentle beast dragged her feet across the slick ground, her thoughts of familiarity were met with a longing she had not felt since she had been purchased by the toadstool traveling theater troupe.

'Young and stupid,'

'No use to the stakes of normal society,'

'She'll do anything you desire of her as long as you keep her close...and away from yearning males.'

When she had appeared at Madam Pasture's doorstep, she was told she was a blessing and, more so, that she should be grateful for the generosity shown to such a beautiful beast as she. But the little bug knew better than her madam. She had been sent here as punishment after refusing to perform a mating duet with Mrs. Toadstool's son.

The acorn, illuminating with light, was gripped tighter as she found feathers of a mass blocking her path. The dainty stray's thoughts returned to the chirping she had heard; pulling near the bundle, brushing away the feathers, she found the face of a young male swallow.

The bird's eyes sagged with tears, and its beak lay dried and parted as if the young bird had fallen asleep, yearning.

The gentle vertebrate quickly set down her acorn, kneeling beside the elegant beast. Her eyes danced with dew at the poor creature's display as she placed a fragile kiss on the fowl's eyelids.    

The swallow's form was laid out like a torn cloth. Its wings were crusted with frost, and snow caked over its body. The fowl appeared pale, even though the feathers suggested the bird was once a vibrant periwinkle blue with touches of black at the tips and a white underbelly.

She brought her hand to the fixed crystals below his beak, though the petite creature instantly pulled away as a line of goosebumps spread up her neck to the tips of her hair that cascaded behind her to the floor.

Rubbing her arms, she hoped to return the warmth to her skin, but her breath instantly grew cold.

This swallow is indeed frozen, though he can't be dead. I will not allow this sweet, innocent creature to die.

The nubile critter pulled herself from an aria of dimples. It went steadily back through the tunnels and many openings to Monsieur Mouldiwarp's storage cellar, finding cotton, paper, satin, leaves, and silk materials. The animal grasped as many as she could and began to pile the stored coats of covering upon the bulky swallow as best as she could. As the exhausted beauty finished, she rested her newly warm body against the fledgling's chest, hoping her warmth would revive the handsome creature from slumber.

She allowed her head to fall to the young swallow's cold chest, hearing only her heart through the empty carcass. Downhearted tears dripped as fatigue took over the speck of a being. Deep into the night, when the little bug was soundly asleep, a sudden softness moved over her body as she lay over the swallow's form, a sweeping of feathers that pulled her close. A soft chirp escaped the girl as a hollow skull fell onto her girl's shoulder.

***

'Such a pretty little woman.'

The nestling adjusted his body by his wing, investigating the appearance of the bitty pretty, from her tiny toes to her button nose. She looked no more than fifteen, but she had wisdom about her that could claim her age to be thirty.