01-06-2016, 09:31 AM
WEIR
Usually the roan male avoids the adoption den at all costs. It is a sad, hopeless, place. That's no where for Weir to travel, no where indeed.
He takes the long way home more often than not, steering clear of the cries and torment of the abandoned children. Somehow today though, on his way home from the field- he's wandered much too close to the den's borders. Much too close.
The faintest voice reaches his red ears, pulling him from his thoughts, a light snowfall flaking down on his back. Lucky for Weir he no longer feels the cold, doesn't suffer from the chill of winter. He is his own winter now.
The girl's call pulls at him, and he turns his head when his body stops. It's not a halting stop, not a sudden one either, Weir doesn't often travel quickly. Today is no exception. He should really just keep going, just carry on Weir. But he doesn't, he never does as he should does he? Instead, Weir progresses forward, passes through the dens borders and searches for the young girl that calls out for mother. One more couldn't hurt could it? There was room, there was plenty of space in the Dale for others. Gods know that they needed them.
It isn't hard to spot the girl, no pun intended, but she is covered in speckles. Dots of smoke crossing her small body, a small body tipped in frost. For a moment, Weir's heart drops, sinks to the pits of his stomach. Then the girl moves, very much alive, not exactly frozen to death at all. His ears pull forward in interest, in curiosity and he speaks. A gentle nicker forming and flowing past his velvet mouth. "Halloo there young lady. Hallo and good day to you, a am not mother, indeed it is true. I am Weir, at your service." He smiles and dips his head in a bow, treating the girl like a tiny queen.
He takes the long way home more often than not, steering clear of the cries and torment of the abandoned children. Somehow today though, on his way home from the field- he's wandered much too close to the den's borders. Much too close.
The faintest voice reaches his red ears, pulling him from his thoughts, a light snowfall flaking down on his back. Lucky for Weir he no longer feels the cold, doesn't suffer from the chill of winter. He is his own winter now.
The girl's call pulls at him, and he turns his head when his body stops. It's not a halting stop, not a sudden one either, Weir doesn't often travel quickly. Today is no exception. He should really just keep going, just carry on Weir. But he doesn't, he never does as he should does he? Instead, Weir progresses forward, passes through the dens borders and searches for the young girl that calls out for mother. One more couldn't hurt could it? There was room, there was plenty of space in the Dale for others. Gods know that they needed them.
It isn't hard to spot the girl, no pun intended, but she is covered in speckles. Dots of smoke crossing her small body, a small body tipped in frost. For a moment, Weir's heart drops, sinks to the pits of his stomach. Then the girl moves, very much alive, not exactly frozen to death at all. His ears pull forward in interest, in curiosity and he speaks. A gentle nicker forming and flowing past his velvet mouth. "Halloo there young lady. Hallo and good day to you, a am not mother, indeed it is true. I am Weir, at your service." He smiles and dips his head in a bow, treating the girl like a tiny queen.
FIRST WE'LL MAKE SNOW ANGELS FOR TWO HOURS
THEN WE'LL GO ICE SKATING
THEN WE'LL GO ICE SKATING