![[Image: cornpostbit.png]](http://magatia.net/x/cornpostbit.png)
SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )
His efforts worked.
The heavens were opening up for him, delivering him their light - or perhaps it was the gates of hell beckoning him back for the safety of this world he'd been thrust into. Whichever it was scarcely mattered, he felt the triumph of forcing the world to do his bidding as the pelt was lifted up and away from his small body.
Just as quickly as the light spilled in, he was presented with a dark face crafted from what he was sure was the purest of onyx and quartz, had he known what such things were. This face looked down upon him with an intense gaze, their - her - eyes the color citrine.
His honking ceased, allowing silence to span within the clearing for a handful of moments, as he stared up at his rescuer. His mother.
It was an instinct that roared to life in every fiber of his consciousness - she was his mother and there was nothing to disrupt the idea as he shoved the rest of the pelt away and clambered away from it. There was no one and no thing that could convince him that he was not of her kin, not even his lack of paws but possession of a beak.
The gosling gave a series of honks that were laced with far less rage and much more affection as he flapped useless wings and skittered onto one of her large paws, rubbing his beak against her.
The heavens were opening up for him, delivering him their light - or perhaps it was the gates of hell beckoning him back for the safety of this world he'd been thrust into. Whichever it was scarcely mattered, he felt the triumph of forcing the world to do his bidding as the pelt was lifted up and away from his small body.
Just as quickly as the light spilled in, he was presented with a dark face crafted from what he was sure was the purest of onyx and quartz, had he known what such things were. This face looked down upon him with an intense gaze, their - her - eyes the color citrine.
His honking ceased, allowing silence to span within the clearing for a handful of moments, as he stared up at his rescuer. His mother.
It was an instinct that roared to life in every fiber of his consciousness - she was his mother and there was nothing to disrupt the idea as he shoved the rest of the pelt away and clambered away from it. There was no one and no thing that could convince him that he was not of her kin, not even his lack of paws but possession of a beak.
The gosling gave a series of honks that were laced with far less rage and much more affection as he flapped useless wings and skittered onto one of her large paws, rubbing his beak against her.