totschafe
constricting, sliding, scaled stomach upon the ground. in the trees, tongue to the air. inquiries and questions, wondering who the next meal is, wondering if you're the next meal. a golden silhouette, all danger, all beauty. meant to be captured, meant to be released. made not of feathers but jewels and water.
it lays unbroken, yet all the same broken once. tossed and carved by sand and waves, beautiful yet so simplistic. i dare to pick it up, to pretend, to make it magic wand and weapon in one. then, i tire of it, tossing it back to carving seas and sands, where another may choose to make it their toy.