DracoStryx Scavenging: Wakeup | Teapot, Badallaioc, (Laverito)

Laverito = Laverito (rider)

Badallaioc = Badallaioc

Teapot = the casua (owned by SheepMomther)

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Laverito was not what you'd call a morning rabbit.

He wasn't what you'd call a rabbit either, but what you would call him was a topic of serious debate, and not one of the topics Laverito himself cared to debate on - and so:

Laverito wasn't a morning person. Case in point: dawn was breaking, the sun nearly peeking out from behind distant mountains, and the forest clearing was brightening from the grey of the wee hours to the blue of the oncoming day. And Laverito was, quite determinedly, sleeping through it. 

At least, he was, until a beak nudged against the wrist of one of his wings. 

Now, hares (in case you didn't know) sleep in forms. A form is, essentially, a nest that any bird with a smidge of pride would reject instantly. A good thing, then, that Laverito's stryx companion - Badallaioc, a casua, great and big and pale as bone, with blood-red feet and soot-black shoulders - certainly did not consider himself a bird. Although Badallaioc had more than a smidge of pride, he saved his boundless outrage for more important matters than a mere sleeping-place.

So, Laverito and Badallaioc, exhausted from a long night of running from irate townsfolk, were curled up asleep in a humble little form. It was no more than a shallow dip in the bare grass, but the sky was clear of any rain-laden clouds, and the forest was a young and quiet sort of forest. It was full of saplings and bushes, and empty of lumber-mills, or other noisome things.

The beak nudged at his wing again, lifting it slightly from where it flopped askew, and Laverito muttered, "G'way, Badallaioc..."

Badallaioc made an irritated mutter of his own, and that was when the still-groggy Laverito remembered that Badallaioc was not the type of stryx to gently nudge anything. Badallaioc tended to bowl things over, or fling them into bramble patches. Laverito knew this for a prickle-poked fact.

Laverito, suddenly very awake, flailed around in a tangle of six limbs and a bushy little tail, before hopping to his feet with a dizzy yelp.

After coming to terms with the fact that it seemed nothing was eating, stabbing, or otherwise harming him, Laverito let his long ears fall back, and thought about what he was seeing.

Standing a bit too close for comfort was a strange stryx. A casua, like Badallaioc, only not at all. Where Badallaioc's coloring was harsh and vivid, this strange casua was blended in shades of earthen-brown, with dark spots, darker points, and a pale underbelly. Totally unconcerned about Badallaioc's irritated clicking, the strange casua stretched out a long neck and tufted head, and prodded at Laverito's delicate bat-like wing with a pale pink beak.

Noting that the strange casua seemed friendly enough, Laverito concluded, "Oh, well, aren't you lovely?"

The casua made no reply. Abruptly, dark brown talons ripped up grass in their haste to carry the casua away. Not too far - at the edge of the clearing, a particular tree became the subject of rapt attention. The casua poked and clattered around the young, small roots. Laverito watched in some perplexion as grass was rigorously combed through, bark was scuffed, and dusty forest soil was sent swirling into small clouds of dust. 

"And - what are you after, beautiful?" Laverito asked, feeling more than a bit bemused.

Although there was still no reply, Laverito didn't have to wait long. Before more than a moment had passed, the casua had searched through the litter and found a treasure. A tiny wildflower was held aloft, and it so happened that the sun chose this very moment to shed the first true beam of light into the forest clearing, illuminating the little fan of white petals. It was carried forth from the earth through the air, and laid upon a truly perplexed Laverito's palm.

"Well, thanks," said Laverito, who knew how to make the most of any situation. "This is a very nice little flower, friend."

The casua bobbed and swayed, and although there was still not even a hint of a sound, Laverito was fairly certain that was a happy dance. 

Badallaioc, unprompted, uttered a scornful scoff. At last, unable to deny wakefulness now that sleep had been disturbed and the sun was rising, Badallaioc clambered to his own crimson talons and kneaded the grass threateningly. "Oh, friends, are we? Already? Really?"

“You’re just upset because you're no good at finding nice things,” Laverito scoffed back. "All you ever find are angry guards and watchmen."

"You," Badallaioc started, but he broke off with a snort. "I," he tried again, with the same result. Then, with an irate grumble, Badallaioc stomped across the clearing and started combing through the trees at the edge. His tail, naked of feathers but lined with poky spines, lashed slowly through the air, as he pecked at the ground like a particularly grumpy chicken. He curled and uncurled the thumbs at the ends of his short wings, here and there reaching out to hook at something among the roots and grasses. 

Laverito, still holding the tiny flower, looked over at the casua, and risked a sly grin. 

The casua tilted a white-masked head, and blinked a pair of eyes as blue as a noon sky. Then, the casua trotted over to join Badallaioc in searching the clearing's edges, and Laverito tucked the flower in his breast pocket so that he could follow along. A bit of sniffing around never hurt, did it? It was just getting caught in the act that called for trouble, and there were surely no guards with shiny badges out here in the middle of the woods. 

Badallaioc grunted and scratched the ground, once-twice-thrice. Out of the stirred-up dust and gritty soil, Badallaioc pulled a treasure of his own, and presented it to Laverito with no small amount of triumph. 

Laverito looked it over. "Badallaioc, this is a stick."

"A good stick!"

"You have a point there," Laverito conceded, mostly because Badallaioc could eat Laverito in two bites if ever truly provoked, heavens forfend. 

Badallaioc grumbled something that was both incomprehensible and also most likely terribly unflattering, and set to scanning through the undergrowth again. Badallaioc meandered up to where the casua was carefully looking over a small bush. Laverito could see tiny berries nestled in the ragged leaves. The casua picked them gently, and stacked them in an impressively neat little pile, on a patch of shorter grass. Badallaioc snatched gobs of berries out of the poor bush, and then flicked his head to throw them at Laverito. Only a sliver of sun had made it into the sky, the day barely begun, and Laverito's poor shirt was already stained. 

Oh well. It had already been in desperate need of a wash.