but now we're sleeping at the edge
holding something we don't need
The meadow was home. It was large and grassy and full of strangers who were incredibly loud but did not seem to understand his way of speaking like his family. They did not respond to his thoughts in the same way that Isle and dad would, and they did not even pick up on his habits the way that mom would. They could not read happiness in the wiggling of his ears or see when he was frustrated by the way his nose would scrunch up. In fact, they seemed to notice him at all—as if he wasn’t there. Just a ghost.
Wyck was not sure what to make of it yet, was not able to form opinions on a life of silence yet, and he instead just stuck close to Isle, her ability somewhat of a buoy in his world. When she was near, he was able to feel normal—was able to converse in his own strange fashion. She made him feel less alone. When he was with her, and mom and dad, he did not feel broken at all. He felt special.
Together, they are bounding through the meadow when suddenly Isle spins, and Wyck does his best to follow suit—his legs still too long to be graceful, and his motions awkward because of it. “Isleeeeee!” he complained in his head, eyes narrowing in playful annoyance. “You can’t just stop all of a sudden. I could have run into a tree! Or the ocean!” He throws his small red head backward, “For all you know, I could have died. I could have diedddd—and it would have been all your fault.”
He grins and laughter bounces around in his head as he finally catches up to her, slightly out of breath. The colt brightens when he sees the stranger, and his ears perk—body language open and friendly. “Yeah, I’m Wyck!” he thinks silently, wondering if she may be able to hear his thoughts if he thought them really hard. He still wasn’t quite sure who could and who couldn't yet. “Wanna play?”
is going to bring us to our knees
