| Based on | Click to view |
| Artist | blkberry [gallery] |
| Time spent | 5 hours, 32 minutes |
| Drawing sessions | 3 |
| 45 people like this | Log in to vote for this drawing |
by blkberry » Mon Apr 21, 2025 12:28 pm
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by hugs100 » Mon Apr 21, 2025 12:36 pm
The Beginning of Something Special wrote:It was early spring in Felidaera, the kind that stirred color into the skies and carved warmth into the bones of the land. But no season in Felidaera came without riskβbeneath every blooming blossom and wind-swept hill, something waited.
Thistle had flown out before sunrise, wings beating low and slow over the tree lines, eyes scanning the misty ground not for prey, but for imbalance. He was not a soldier. Not a scout. Not a predator.
He was something softer. A mender of broken roots. A quiet usher of fallen fledglings. He believedβfiercely, quietlyβthat someone needed to care for what Felidaera tried to swallow.
That morning, the cry reached him like a thread of glass, sharp and clear.
He followed it.
Down in the thickets, two tiny chicks huddled beneath a broken nest. The grass around them was crushed, feathers scattered like snow. One chickβthe bolder one, a little fluffball with oversized feetβlet out a raspy cheep and wobbled forward, ready to fight despite trembling legs.
Thistle crouched low, ears perked, wings folded tight against his sides to make himself smaller. Less frightening. A feathered paw nudged a few berries toward them, while his sea-sunset eyes scanned the scene. No predator nearby. Just chaos, and silence.
The smaller chick inched forward and nibbled. The bold one followed with reluctance.
Thistle stayed. For minutes. Then hours.
He waited for the parents to return.
They never did.
As the sun climbed higher, something stirred in himβslow and steady. It wasnβt pity, exactly. Nor was it the soft emotion he often felt for broken things. It was something older. Stronger. A quiet fire in his chest. A whisper from the roots of his soul.
This shouldnβt have happened.
They were innocent, unready for Felidaeraβs cruelty. The wild might not careβbut he did.
And in that moment, Thistle made a vowβnot one of words, but of weight. He would protect these chicks. He would carry them. Feed them. Teach them not to fear the skies. And he would find their parentsβor the truth of what happenedβno matter how far across the realm it took him.
Because someone had to.
Because in Felidaera, survival was a fight...
And Thistle had never liked to fight.
But for justice?
For the vulnerable?
Heβd make an exception.
by BingoDingo03 » Mon Apr 21, 2025 12:57 pm
Harp had found their little companions when they were on a lonesome journey. Harp was a garden guardian at heart. Living around flora life as well as the beautiful fauna caught their eyes as a youngling. Their favorite was the fluffy birds that came to rest there. Harp left their home behind, saying their goodbyes to their family. Harp wanted a quiet, peaceful life, and they werenβt going to get it with their loud family. Picking up their empty basket, they held their head up high and trotted off. Their trip was a nice one, as they picked some flowers, humming a soft tune on the way.
They had found a nice pond to settle by after traveling for a while. It was deserted, except for the pond life. No loud guardians, not too much movement, it was perfect. As dawn turned to dusk, Harp was setting up their soon-to-be home. Harp chose a nice hollow to start off on. Tendrils with petals and moss were woven into its roots, making it stand out already. It was a darling little site. Deciding to take a break, Harp picked up their empty basket and balanced it on their back. They stepped away from their home, joyfully making their way to the pond.
Lush grass and small pebbles surrounded the pond, birdsong chirping above their head. Flowers bloomed in many colors here, much to Harpβs excitement. What a quaint little place! Maybe I could create a garden here. Harp thought happily. As they gingerly plucked an assortment of bouquets, they hummed let another song. This was an sweet tune, one that their own mothers sang to them as a youngling. Caught up in their own music, they spun and tip-toed their paws, creating a flurry of petals. It was a blissful moment, and Harp could be any happier than that.
Out of the blue, Harpβs song attracted two little strangers. They stopped spinning as they spotted yellow fluff behind some grass. Bustling out from the flowers were two fuzzy chicks, each were chirping tunes of their own. Heart warming in delight, Harp continued their tune, wondering if the chicks would join in. Gladly, they did, chirping and running over to Harp.
As Harp crouched down, a chick attempted to clamber up into their basket. A paw assured the young chick as it chirped in happiness. The chicks cooed at Harp lovingly, a smile crept up on their face. Looking around, Harp quickly realized that there were no mother bird to be found. Were they abandoned? I wonder... Harp glanced at the frolicking chick at their feet. I need to find their parents, and fast! Who knows where they could be nowβ¦
With the hopping chicks in tow, Harp went on a search. They looked into small dips, the clutters of grass, the branches in the trees. Nothing could be found for ages. They checked again and again just to make sure they didnβt skip any details. Nothing. The sun was starting to set, Harp and the chicks were becoming exhausted. Dragging their paws, Harp and the chicks started to head back to Harpβs home grounds.
For what seemed like forever, Harp finally found a clue. The chick that tailed Harp's paws cheeped and rushed ahead. Panicked by the little oneβs outburst, they hurried right behind it. It was a nest. It was hidden deep within the marshy part of a nearby pond, only this time, the atmosphere wasnβt all that cheerful.
The nest, however, was void of inhabitants. It appeared to be tattered, twigs and leaves scattered all about. A stench of iron hung in the air. Blood. Harp stilled a gag, a feeling of dread curdling in their belly. Muddied feathers of grown birds laid before them, scattered all around. Harp dipped their head in disgust. A sad fate happened here, and these chicks wouldβve been part of it, had they not left before.
A sorrowful peep came from the chick in the basket. It hopped from its sanctuary and made way for its sibling, bowing in despair. Oh dear... How awful.. Harp swallowed a lump in their throat, a tear rolling down their cheek. Where are they to go? Theyβre just babies after allβ¦ Looking down at the now grief-stricken creatures, a life changing idea rang in their head. They were going to take them home, they would keep them happy and safe.
Not willing to put their newfound friends in any more harm, Harp quickly hurried them back home. Whatever stole their parents from them, will not dare to harm them while they were in Harpβs care. The basket was a comforting spot for the chicks, the woven trinket and the surrounding flowers made them feel at home again. Harpβs warm pelt felt like their mother pressing close to them once again. A loving gaze came from Harp as they all settled for the night. Humming, Harp curled their soft body 'round the chicks, wrapping their paws beneath the basket.
From there on, Harp would protect them from the vicious unknowns, despite their petite from. They refuse to see these cheerful babes be torn to shreds. Harp knew that theyβd care for these helpless little creatures, tending to them just how they do to their own garden.
dingo or wazz| she/xi/they/moon ||autistic artist|
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