we scream our very souls free
For the shadow child, personal space is something of a novel concept. Haunt had yet to encounter any other, elder or child, who seemed overset by the unnatural curiosity the little creature is given to. So to find a boy that seems to flinch away from every step nearer, that recoils from each touch, is vastly intriguing to Haunt. Rather then putting the child off, it draws the smaller equid closer.
Tilting that pitch-dark head, Haunt eyes the boy with avid curiosity, unconsciously beginning to mirror him as he shifts uncomfortably. It had never before occurred to the shadow child that it’s very presence and unusual mannerisms might be enough to sew discomfort in another. Not until Arctyrus, leaning so uncomfortably away, utters the words in a low whine.
Stilling, Haunt stares unblinkingly at the much taller boy, ears twitching as the admission is appropriately digested. “Weird?” Haunt questions, tasting the word as though it is a stranger to the shadow’s tongue. And perhaps it is. Weird is so very relative when one had been born as Haunt had. “Tingly weird? Giggly weird?”
Drawing back suddenly, Haunt lifts his head, peering widely at the boy as he speaks. “Salty weird?” Slipping abruptly into the shadows, Haunt appears without notice or forethought on the other side of the boy. “Shadow weird?” Teeth snap with futile playfulness around a string of the shadow that seems so attracted to his new friend. “It’s all weird, isn’t it?”
With bright, almost guileless eyes, Haunt peers up at Arctyrus once more, never once considering it is the child’s own self that may be the issue.
