04-04-2017, 11:10 PM
The pond is his favorite part of Sylva. It is where he was born and where he spends the vast majority of his time. His coat is almost always soaking wet, but as he stands in the noon bright meadow, he is little more than slightly damp. It is an interesting sensation. Not unpleased, exactly, but certainly unfamiliar.
Of course, most things are still unfamiliar when you are only a few months old.
Ivar stretches out one back leg; it had fallen asleep as he dozed. He can tell his mother is somewhere nearby, probably wandering the woods, but he had fed shortly before sleeping. He has no need of her for the moment, and begins to wander. The dark colt is distracted fairly quickly by a gaggle of wood ducklings, recently fallen from their nest and heading toward the nearest body of water. It’s not his pond – that is to the north – and he watches them waddle away with a happy grin on his young face. He is too young to have learned to hide his feelings, and he turns as they disappear in search of something else exciting.
Of course, most things are still unfamiliar when you are only a few months old.
Ivar stretches out one back leg; it had fallen asleep as he dozed. He can tell his mother is somewhere nearby, probably wandering the woods, but he had fed shortly before sleeping. He has no need of her for the moment, and begins to wander. The dark colt is distracted fairly quickly by a gaggle of wood ducklings, recently fallen from their nest and heading toward the nearest body of water. It’s not his pond – that is to the north – and he watches them waddle away with a happy grin on his young face. He is too young to have learned to hide his feelings, and he turns as they disappear in search of something else exciting.