I love only that which they defend; Woolf

[Ryan]

I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness,
nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory

Ryan was a strange, reserved, quiet child. He’s become an even more reserved man, due in no small part to his largely solitary life. He does better than most would with the self-contained life, possibly because it’s quite natural for the cat inside him. But even he cannot stay alone forever, he would go mad. Introvert, he is; insane, he is not. Yet. He’s meandered today away from Hyaline to the edge of the common lands, and is trying to work his way up to actually speaking to someone. Usually, a single conversation will hold him for months – years, even – but he’s very picky about who he interacts with.
 

Until he makes a decision, he observes. Ryan has become an expert at observing – he’s nearly silent even in his horse form, a grace from the cat that carries effortlessly over. Everything about him screams ‘feline’, even when he’s not, simply because he spends so much more time in the panther form. But as he has long learned not to interact with the public as a mountain lion, Ryan is a horse today. The gold of his main body comes from his mother’s family, the bright color striking in and of itself. But the truly unique thing is the mulberry purple that forms his dun points, something Nairne had said he’d inherited from his father, whom he’s never met.
 

Sometimes, while he watches the strangers and listens to them, he makes up stories reminiscent of the ones his mother used to tell. He takes clues from their body language, their interactions, the snippets of conversations he hears. In his mind they all leave brilliant, exciting lives; the kind he dreams happen to other people. But not, as it happens, to Ryan.

Ryan

( I love only that which they defend. )

@[woolf]