The stranger spins around when Meyer steps out into the open and I tense, waiting for an attack. He looks like he might be Meyer’s age, but that is about where the similarities end. My ears flick forward and then back again. He sounds annoyed, but not aggressive. Meyer doesn’t answer right away, shuffling closer. I can tell he still hurts, though the physical injuries have long since healed. Will this other boy sense his weakness and take advantage of it? Meyer’s personal bubble is larger than most others and he stops just short of it. He’s tense, too, but maintains control, his golden bay body devoid of the other boys purple and blue, his shoulders remaining bare of wings. I grin with pride and, perhaps feeling a bit cheeky because my plan worked, try to reply in the same deep voice I’d originally adopted. It irritates my throat, though, and I cough and choke on my own spit, spluttering for a second before clearing my throat and trying again.
“Says you!” I shout, and stick out my tongue, though I’m sure they still can’t see me.
Rather than back me up, though, Meyer clicks his tongue in that scolding way of his, and replies to the stranger, his tone clearly mocking. I hate being chastised, almost as much as I hate being talked about like I'm not standing right here. I run out onto the trail with a wild war cry, barreling towards the bay boy who is the older brother I never asked for. He steps out of the way at the last second and I trip over something, stumbling over my own legs and rolling off the other side. I come up wild and raging at the indignity of it all and charge him again. He wheels out of my way again, a matador well-accustomed to this particular bull, and I duck to my right, hard. Too hard. My feet go flying out from under me and I somersault again, skidding across the ground several feet before coming to a rest near where the unusual boy had been.
I get back up, shaking my coat out and gulping down air, my little chest heaving. I glare at Meyer, who just stands there, watching me in that obnoxiously quiet way of his. I immediately feel contrite - smaller than him as I am, he's still not himself. I could have hurt him. Childishly, I turn and look up, changing the subject rather than letting Meyer see my guilt and the apology on my face. “They sure don’t look just “kinda” sharp to me,” I say, squinting at the teeth in question. “What are you, anyway?”
“Says you!” I shout, and stick out my tongue, though I’m sure they still can’t see me.
Rather than back me up, though, Meyer clicks his tongue in that scolding way of his, and replies to the stranger, his tone clearly mocking. I hate being chastised, almost as much as I hate being talked about like I'm not standing right here. I run out onto the trail with a wild war cry, barreling towards the bay boy who is the older brother I never asked for. He steps out of the way at the last second and I trip over something, stumbling over my own legs and rolling off the other side. I come up wild and raging at the indignity of it all and charge him again. He wheels out of my way again, a matador well-accustomed to this particular bull, and I duck to my right, hard. Too hard. My feet go flying out from under me and I somersault again, skidding across the ground several feet before coming to a rest near where the unusual boy had been.
I get back up, shaking my coat out and gulping down air, my little chest heaving. I glare at Meyer, who just stands there, watching me in that obnoxiously quiet way of his. I immediately feel contrite - smaller than him as I am, he's still not himself. I could have hurt him. Childishly, I turn and look up, changing the subject rather than letting Meyer see my guilt and the apology on my face. “They sure don’t look just “kinda” sharp to me,” I say, squinting at the teeth in question. “What are you, anyway?”
salomea