11-23-2024, 07:51 AM
She does scramble back at the reveal of my shining teeth, and my grin opens into a delighted laugh. “You should’ve seen your face,” I manage between laughs, “I didn’t really mean to scare you but that was so funny!” Any fear I’d had - about her possibly biting me, about other dangers that might lurk in the Forest around us, melt away with my amusement.
As she rises, I look back at the boy, sure he will find this as funny as I had, given how he’d sent her tumbling a few moments ago. But he is looking at me differently, in a way that feels odd, so instead I look back at the girl rather than lose the bubbling warmth of companionship.
She’s grinning as brightly as I do after succumbing to Luvi’s maneuvers, and I wonder for the first time why there are not other children in the Gates, others for Luvi and I to play with. These two, introduced now as Meyer and Salomea, seem most excellent.
“I’m from the Gates,” I explain, “I’ve never been here before, but I’m not lost.” I do not think I am lost, anyway. Despite the overgrowth, the narrowing of apath that comes naturally of less use, I am certain that this is the way to the Forest. Or maybe this is the Forest - the trees seem numerous enough. “Do you live here? Isn’t it kinda spooky? My mom says there’s things in the darkest parts.”
The most terrible thing in my life had been tumbling down a steep bit of cliff near the Gates’ waterfall and the deep gouge it left in my fetlock. It hadn’t healed immediately, no matter how many times he’d dunked it in the healing waters. Ruhr had said it was probably the magic in the waterfall attempting to teach me caution, but Ruhr often attributes sentience to odd things - like the Moon.
So when I think of scary things, they are things like jackals, or steep cliffs; things that can be avoided or scared off with flared wings (like those Salomea inspects) or bared teeth.
“I only really like Ravin,” I admit to her, “only Ruhr calls me Ravinkavek. I think it’s a Stratosian thing.” It had been clear from their attempted pronunciation that neither of them had heard of Stratosians before, so I decided that they are probably not Baltians themselves. (I’m not entirely sure what a Baltian looks like, but these two look less fishy than the tailed creatures that I’ve spotted from time to time in the waterfal’s lagoon.)
“I caught a fish once,” I reply to Salomea’s question about the usefulness of my teeth, and I open my mouth to tell the story when she continues. I smell funny? I bend the still-outstretched wing forward, but it only smells like feathers, and I offer her a mirrored shrug as I tuck it back against my golden side. “Maybe it’s the Stratosian,” I muse, “or the Gates?” I lean forward, just a little, and inhale. “You smell like…the Forest. Do you live here?”
@Meyer
As she rises, I look back at the boy, sure he will find this as funny as I had, given how he’d sent her tumbling a few moments ago. But he is looking at me differently, in a way that feels odd, so instead I look back at the girl rather than lose the bubbling warmth of companionship.
She’s grinning as brightly as I do after succumbing to Luvi’s maneuvers, and I wonder for the first time why there are not other children in the Gates, others for Luvi and I to play with. These two, introduced now as Meyer and Salomea, seem most excellent.
“I’m from the Gates,” I explain, “I’ve never been here before, but I’m not lost.” I do not think I am lost, anyway. Despite the overgrowth, the narrowing of apath that comes naturally of less use, I am certain that this is the way to the Forest. Or maybe this is the Forest - the trees seem numerous enough. “Do you live here? Isn’t it kinda spooky? My mom says there’s things in the darkest parts.”
The most terrible thing in my life had been tumbling down a steep bit of cliff near the Gates’ waterfall and the deep gouge it left in my fetlock. It hadn’t healed immediately, no matter how many times he’d dunked it in the healing waters. Ruhr had said it was probably the magic in the waterfall attempting to teach me caution, but Ruhr often attributes sentience to odd things - like the Moon.
So when I think of scary things, they are things like jackals, or steep cliffs; things that can be avoided or scared off with flared wings (like those Salomea inspects) or bared teeth.
“I only really like Ravin,” I admit to her, “only Ruhr calls me Ravinkavek. I think it’s a Stratosian thing.” It had been clear from their attempted pronunciation that neither of them had heard of Stratosians before, so I decided that they are probably not Baltians themselves. (I’m not entirely sure what a Baltian looks like, but these two look less fishy than the tailed creatures that I’ve spotted from time to time in the waterfal’s lagoon.)
“I caught a fish once,” I reply to Salomea’s question about the usefulness of my teeth, and I open my mouth to tell the story when she continues. I smell funny? I bend the still-outstretched wing forward, but it only smells like feathers, and I offer her a mirrored shrug as I tuck it back against my golden side. “Maybe it’s the Stratosian,” I muse, “or the Gates?” I lean forward, just a little, and inhale. “You smell like…the Forest. Do you live here?”
@Meyer