The sweetness of summer like a dewdrop of joy, slipping and sliding and wending its way through the crevices of the heart of the boy. Limb, born anew and with a mind cleared of memory, his previous life a haze of no one, nothing, no family. He tried at first to find solace in others, approaching and groping towards company and comfort; but his efforts were in vain given the barren Beqannan plains, vast meadows and forests and mountains with little life to offer. Little life to offer, that is, in the equid way——for the trees and the vines, Limb found he must stay.
Today he stands with his head held low, nose snuffling the sleeping earth for signs of growth. He'd sewn seeds in this patch of sun next to the river earlier in spring and he felt eager to know what his efforts would bring. True, he could will his seeds tall, and true, he could take the plant matter around and manipulate it all; but his youthful mind finds a thrill in patience, in testing and trying and making a game of his talents. So he tends to his garden, making friends with the earth. He hums as he works. And above? The stars flit and flicker, calling down, down, to his glowing astral coat with nary a sound.
What's this? He stops dead in his tracks. The vines in his forelock obscure his vision but he does not notice this hampered condition. In the sensitive muslin of his muzzle he feels the tendrils of life. Green, grasping life! His seeds have rooted and started to sprout! He gives a whoop! and gambols about. On spindly legs he rears and bucks, slashing the air with his horn as his vines come unstuck. "Yes!" he cries into the night——but then gasps for fright!
Who's there?...
Stillness now, little Limb. Ponder your fortune before going in. Another life here, right near the garden? Surely not an intruder but a friend in the making. Limb gathers his limbs, heart still quaking. This is not a chance he will miss taking.
He emerges, pushing through shrub, brush, and tree. The stallion he sees stands far taller than he. Handsome and painted, black and white, his long ears swiveling for all their might. Limb approaches with head held low, instincts bidding him to lick and chew out of deference of his elder. How do I know these rituals? he wonders, drawing a blank in the mist of his past life's encounters. At a length's distance away, the yearling stops. All around, the summer dew drops.
"My name is Limb, sir," he murmurs. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you with my prancing about." He swallows a lump and risks a glance at the stallion's eyes, finding the ice of their blue warm; he's surprised. He jumps forward, bumps noses, it's awkward and bad! He sidles away, ears flicked back but not mad. "I'm sorry, it's just been so long since I've seen another."
"Please, tell me your name, brother..."
@Caster
(ooc - I write him in verse, I hope that's okay!!)
Today he stands with his head held low, nose snuffling the sleeping earth for signs of growth. He'd sewn seeds in this patch of sun next to the river earlier in spring and he felt eager to know what his efforts would bring. True, he could will his seeds tall, and true, he could take the plant matter around and manipulate it all; but his youthful mind finds a thrill in patience, in testing and trying and making a game of his talents. So he tends to his garden, making friends with the earth. He hums as he works. And above? The stars flit and flicker, calling down, down, to his glowing astral coat with nary a sound.
What's this? He stops dead in his tracks. The vines in his forelock obscure his vision but he does not notice this hampered condition. In the sensitive muslin of his muzzle he feels the tendrils of life. Green, grasping life! His seeds have rooted and started to sprout! He gives a whoop! and gambols about. On spindly legs he rears and bucks, slashing the air with his horn as his vines come unstuck. "Yes!" he cries into the night——but then gasps for fright!
Who's there?...
Stillness now, little Limb. Ponder your fortune before going in. Another life here, right near the garden? Surely not an intruder but a friend in the making. Limb gathers his limbs, heart still quaking. This is not a chance he will miss taking.
He emerges, pushing through shrub, brush, and tree. The stallion he sees stands far taller than he. Handsome and painted, black and white, his long ears swiveling for all their might. Limb approaches with head held low, instincts bidding him to lick and chew out of deference of his elder. How do I know these rituals? he wonders, drawing a blank in the mist of his past life's encounters. At a length's distance away, the yearling stops. All around, the summer dew drops.
"My name is Limb, sir," he murmurs. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you with my prancing about." He swallows a lump and risks a glance at the stallion's eyes, finding the ice of their blue warm; he's surprised. He jumps forward, bumps noses, it's awkward and bad! He sidles away, ears flicked back but not mad. "I'm sorry, it's just been so long since I've seen another."
"Please, tell me your name, brother..."
@Caster
(ooc - I write him in verse, I hope that's okay!!)