Come little Children {ANY}

[Straia]

i am the violence in the pouring rain

i am a hurricane

There is absolutely no part of being licked that she is okay with. Not even Weed gets to lick her. Bite yes. Lick, no. She takes a slightly step back, and not unkindly (though firmly) says, “Lesson number one, you don’t lick other horses.” He could touch. She understands that it’s the only way he’s going to understand the world. Touch and smell. But she wanted to skip out on the taste part.

The boy tries grass. He wrinkles his nose some, but manages to actually eat some of it. Grass has got to be better for his stomach than blood, whether he likes the taste or not. Not that she thinks she’ll ever break him of the blood lust, but maybe he can learn not to eat meat all the time. How many blood thirsty, carnivorous horses did the Chamber really need? First bunnies, now snakes. It’s a good thing the Chamber doesn’t have all that many of either, perhaps. Or half the horses here would be terribly fat.

The boy doesn’t grasp the name thing though. “No, you are not Straia. I am. And I promise, you are not me.” After all, no one was quite like her. “A name is something special. Each of us has one. Did anyone ever call you something? Or do we need to give you a name?”

It snuggles up next to her, and she actually has to will herself to stand here. The boy seems to be expressing some sort of like (not love, just like), gratitude. Something. Not that she does touchy feely. Ever. But she stands there, probably a bit too rigid and uncomfortable, but she doubts the boy has anything to compare her to at the moment.

“Alright alright, enough. You are not a cat. But I get it. You can stay here, and we’ll see what we can teach you. Sound good?” Yea, she’s a pretty terrible mother. Adopted or not, doesn’t matter. But she won’t send him packing. Even if he freaks her out a bit. Not the blood eating. Just the purring.

straia

the raven queen of the chamber