Post by Nuriko on Jun 26, 2021 21:22:30 GMT -5
estA Brief Interlude
Nuri hummed as she leaned against Nimbus’ warm side, the warmth of the barn around them, the noise and bustle of the day fading away as the animals surrounding them settled down for the night.
“Gimme your wing,” she chided, tugging gently on the wrist joint, spreading the primaries wide. Normally they groomed themselves in the wild, or their herdmates, but with domestication it was important for a keeper to keep on top of these things. She hummed again, running her fingers along one primary after another, checking the vanes, looking for mites or broken sections. Nimbus stamped, lowering her head with a snort and shoving Nuri’s shoulder with a nose.
“Oh hush.” The woman chided, reaching for a bottle and running her hands through the feathers again, this time spreading the protective oil from end to tip. It took a while, and she lost herself in the work, the repetitive motion soothing. Her mind was blissfully silent, a rarity even during quiet moments. People had suggested meditation, medication, all manner of things because they couldn’t manage her hyperactivity or her unending energy. They thought she was exhausting, not worth the effort (they weren’t) or too lazy to “try being normal” or “stop being so obnoxious”.
Fortunately Nuri had the best friends, who liked her for her, and no patience for those judgmental few with the sour faces and sour lives. And she found caring for her animals restful, far better than trying to sit in one place and ‘think of nothing.’ She hummed and combed through the feathers again before moving to Nimbus’ other side and starting on the second wing. She stopped to give her friend a sugar from her pocket on the way.
Nuri hummed as she leaned against Nimbus’ warm side, the warmth of the barn around them, the noise and bustle of the day fading away as the animals surrounding them settled down for the night.
“Gimme your wing,” she chided, tugging gently on the wrist joint, spreading the primaries wide. Normally they groomed themselves in the wild, or their herdmates, but with domestication it was important for a keeper to keep on top of these things. She hummed again, running her fingers along one primary after another, checking the vanes, looking for mites or broken sections. Nimbus stamped, lowering her head with a snort and shoving Nuri’s shoulder with a nose.
“Oh hush.” The woman chided, reaching for a bottle and running her hands through the feathers again, this time spreading the protective oil from end to tip. It took a while, and she lost herself in the work, the repetitive motion soothing. Her mind was blissfully silent, a rarity even during quiet moments. People had suggested meditation, medication, all manner of things because they couldn’t manage her hyperactivity or her unending energy. They thought she was exhausting, not worth the effort (they weren’t) or too lazy to “try being normal” or “stop being so obnoxious”.
Fortunately Nuri had the best friends, who liked her for her, and no patience for those judgmental few with the sour faces and sour lives. And she found caring for her animals restful, far better than trying to sit in one place and ‘think of nothing.’ She hummed and combed through the feathers again before moving to Nimbus’ other side and starting on the second wing. She stopped to give her friend a sugar from her pocket on the way.
