07-20-2016, 08:46 AM
Rowling
He leaps around like nobody's watching and, truth be told, he was a child and wouldn’t care if they did. It’s far too much fun to play without having to worry about looking silly or what others might think. So, instead of being self conscious, he enjoyed himself. And besides, Rowling isn’t sure what that even means. How could anyone feel silly playing anyways? Don't ask him.
It seemed quiet here, much like home. Not that he could tell sound wise that it was quiet, there just weren’t many other horses out and about, not that he had seen. Home was like that too, except the Dale had lots of pretty meadows and flowers and here there was mostly ice and snow. Rowling didn’t mind though, he was probably one of few that didn’t. The blue roan had been born immune to the cold and perhaps that meant he didn’t really know what it meant to be cold either.
As he frolics about his amber eyes catch sight of another horse, a black one, and my does he stand out against the whites of the background. The boy doesn’t waste much time in pressing towards the other to greet him, having never known unkindness, it was something he would ever expect. He can see the black’s mouth moving, he notices the speckles of green but the words won't register on his unhearing ears. Rowling is sure the other was speaking to him though as there was no evidence of food lingering in his parted lips. In return he can simply muster a pleased bleating noise, twisting snowflakes in the air and spelling ‘Hi’ on the ground.
Letters are only good for those that know them though, pretty useless means of conversation unless Mom or sister were around. He tries anyways, someday he would find someone else that could read and what a day that would be! In addition to his squeaks and letters he reaches his muzzle out to sniff at the other, tiny nostrils flaring and unflaring as he does so.
It seemed quiet here, much like home. Not that he could tell sound wise that it was quiet, there just weren’t many other horses out and about, not that he had seen. Home was like that too, except the Dale had lots of pretty meadows and flowers and here there was mostly ice and snow. Rowling didn’t mind though, he was probably one of few that didn’t. The blue roan had been born immune to the cold and perhaps that meant he didn’t really know what it meant to be cold either.
As he frolics about his amber eyes catch sight of another horse, a black one, and my does he stand out against the whites of the background. The boy doesn’t waste much time in pressing towards the other to greet him, having never known unkindness, it was something he would ever expect. He can see the black’s mouth moving, he notices the speckles of green but the words won't register on his unhearing ears. Rowling is sure the other was speaking to him though as there was no evidence of food lingering in his parted lips. In return he can simply muster a pleased bleating noise, twisting snowflakes in the air and spelling ‘Hi’ on the ground.
Letters are only good for those that know them though, pretty useless means of conversation unless Mom or sister were around. He tries anyways, someday he would find someone else that could read and what a day that would be! In addition to his squeaks and letters he reaches his muzzle out to sniff at the other, tiny nostrils flaring and unflaring as he does so.
the mind is not a book to be opened at will and examined at leisure