04-09-2015, 02:11 PM
all things are possible
even the worst of things
even the worst of things
Focus is something that should come with age. And though he has the body of a fully grown stallion, he is still young. But it is more than youth that contributes to his capricious enthusiasm. No, it is a combination of things, difficult to describe. His curiosity is perhaps uppermost. His mind latches onto these experiences like a leech, soaking up what he can until he becomes so bloated on knowledge he has no choice but to drop it. He turns this way and that, unable to decide what should catch his interest most. Perhaps all he needs is a passion. Something he can happily focus his entire being on. Something he can expend all that tightly bound energy on. But as yet, he has not found it.
But for the moment, he has latched himself onto Librette, impatiently learning everything she has to teach. Eagerly anticipating what fascinating subject is to come next.
Dark ears cocked in her direction, he listens to her as she speaks, taking in every word. For once he does not interrupt her. Maybe, just maybe, he is finally learning some patience after all. Despite his silence his curiosity does not wane. Rather it grows, like a bubble, filling his chest until he feels he might burst. His velvety brown eyes cannot seem to decide where to land as they shift from mare to tree and back again.
But you died!
He can’t seem to contain the comment as he looks at her in amazement. The plain, rather unassuming mare before him should not stand where she does. And to him, that is simply remarkable.
How did you die?
He pauses for a long moment, as though considering whether he should ask his next question.
Did it hurt? I mean, what happened? What did it feel like?
But for the moment, he has latched himself onto Librette, impatiently learning everything she has to teach. Eagerly anticipating what fascinating subject is to come next.
Dark ears cocked in her direction, he listens to her as she speaks, taking in every word. For once he does not interrupt her. Maybe, just maybe, he is finally learning some patience after all. Despite his silence his curiosity does not wane. Rather it grows, like a bubble, filling his chest until he feels he might burst. His velvety brown eyes cannot seem to decide where to land as they shift from mare to tree and back again.
But you died!
He can’t seem to contain the comment as he looks at her in amazement. The plain, rather unassuming mare before him should not stand where she does. And to him, that is simply remarkable.
How did you die?
He pauses for a long moment, as though considering whether he should ask his next question.
Did it hurt? I mean, what happened? What did it feel like?
shahrizai