Tapper and Canary walked across a field of foreign grass, experimenting with proper conversation as foals often played with fire. Canary was, in any case. Tapper was content to simply listen and smile.
“The surface is weird.”
Tapper nodded, smelling a nearby tree and trying to remember what trees actually did.
“What is the point of this grass?”
Tapper shrugged, giving up on the tree.
“Are we near the rock field?”
Tapper took a deep sigh and frowned, slowly shaking her head.
“Oh…”
Putting on a fake smile, Tapper pointed to a rabbit hidden in tall weeds.
Crimson Canary beamed.