The world is bright and beautiful place, but Rucker loves none of it so much as he loves home. He doesn't know whether it is safety or family that draws his heart to twine with meadows and wildflowers of the gates. He doesn't ponder it much either. Rucker is a colt of simple tastes, with a heart as wide open and bright as the prairies. His blue eyes often light up with eagerness and a slow and steady country boy smile makes its way across his face. He is ungainly, as foals often are, but by looking at him one can tell that he will have his father's height. His coat is pitch black, accented by white socks and a blaze. Of course, they are not often pure white because Rucker enjoys rolling in the dirt and feeling the grit in his skin. Gold strands are interwoven in his mane. They are a gift from his grandma, and he loves her secretly best of all, because she told him his name and let him know he was not alone. He is handsome, and wild, and full of energy.

He is also deaf.

The black colt doesn't notice it much, having always been lacking sound. Occasionally Rucker finds himself frustrated that he can't make himself understood, but mostly he communicates with body language and that easy smile of his. He is young, and carefree and fears very little. Not from ignorance, but from an inborn confidence. He wants to protect those he loves and he feels capable of that, even if his body would disagree.

Despite loving the gates most of all, Rucker had felt the urge to roam and learn more about the world he is growing up in. With patient direction from his siblings, the black colt took the short walk to the playground. In family of many children he does not often feel alone, but he does crave a change of scenery. Someone who would play with him and maybe want to explore, too.

He looks about carefully, letting his eyes fill in for the lack of his ears. This place is peaceful but vibrant, watched over by glittering flashes of light. He does a happy circle-trot and stands proudly, blue eyes wide and a slow smile on his features.

Rucker is used to being approached and inspected. He is also used to others speaking to him. (Although he doesn't call it speaking. To him, it is some mouth language that he will never quite conquer.)

He is not, however, used to the rate at which her lips move. His eyes widen slightly and a confused look passes over his face. He had been so busy admiring the gold on her hoof, an identical shimmering color to the strands in his inky hair, that her first words are lost to him. Frustration bubbles up in his mind. It is quickly conquered by his good nature and with a slow sprawling smile he offers up one of the few words he can himself say. Though he never hears the words himself, he has practiced mimicking the shape of his mother's lips when she talks to him. She is often talking, and Rucker finds it comforting although he doesn't know what is going on.

“Rucker. Who you?”

The words are a little off, harsher than perhaps his tones would be if he knew. For surely this girl wanted his name? He couldn't imagine what other use she might have for him, although he hoped it would be an adventure. With a young boy's impetuousness he dips his nose towards her foot, lipping the rim of gold and then giving the girl a quizzical look. In his own way, and without realizing it, he is asking the exact same question she had.

This time he watches her mouth carefully, blue eyes filled with concentration. His ears never move, not responding to even the slightest bird song.

Lesa? Lexa, he thinks. It's a name, a new one, and he wags his tail in greeting and excitement. He loves his treasure box of encounters, each person like a jewel to examine and learn. Grandmother, mother, Tioga, father. And each is so different! Little mannerisms and facial quirks, each of these things he commits to memory. And Lexa, she is a mixture of contained energy and concentration. He recognizes her impatience, and he offers an apologetically sorrowful look. The words 'I'm sorry' are not in his limited vocabulary.

Rucker shakes his head vigorously so that the golden strands catch the light. When he is certain she has noticed them, he answers her question with painstaking concentration. His voice is syrupy, slow and unsteady. His mouth form words he has heard only in his mind. He wishes his mother were here to explain. He doesn't have the grasp of language required to tell the girl that her voice will never be heard.

“Savta. G-Gandmother.”

He remembers her well, the golden mare in the deserts who gifted him with the syllables of his name and the knowledge of family. His heart warms whenever he thinks of her. He cannot imagine ever gathering the courage to call for her, but knowing that she is available for him is a steadying force in his life. For though he is shy, he doesn't doubt his savta's sincerity.

Lexa's next question throws him. He stomps his foot, once, his own sign for someone to go slower when the speak. But of course she can't know this. Rucker knits his brow in frustrated contemplation. Something about where she is from? Sh-ju-something with a long vowel sound. Maybe she wants to know where he lives. The problem is, the dark colt doesn't know the name of his home. It is beautiful, wide open with grassy plains and wildflowers that look and taste delicious.

Inspiration strikes him and he loops around her in a circle before wandering a bit away and looking over his shoulder. He repeats the circle, this time in front of her, a playful look on his face. Come with me, his blue eyes are saying, and every muscle in his body is tensed with eager excitement. He can show her his home. Eyes are something they share in common. Rucker lets an easy, slow smile cross his features as he waits patiently for Lexa to understand.