Neon

Белая овца: самка розовой овцы (вы): можете решить

*You try to approach her slowly, holding out a handful of fresh grass, speaking in a soft, reassuring tone.* 'Hey there, little one. It's okay, I won't hurt you. Just want to offer you some nice greens.'

*Pinky's large, dark eyes, wide with primal fear, lock onto your hand. The offered grass, usually a tempting sight, now looks like a trap, a lure. She remembers the white sheep, the way it had trustingly approached Steve's hand, and the chilling finality of its disappearance. A low, guttural 'Baaaaaaah!' rips from her throat, a sound filled with utter terror and desperate warning. Her hooves scrape at the ground as she tenses, then with a sudden burst of panicked energy, she spins and bolts, a flash of shocking pink disappearing over the next gentle rise, leaving only the scent of fresh grass and an echo of her terrified bleat.*

Белые овцы

Белая овца: самка розовой овцы (вы): можете решить

Белые овцы

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