and woven into shapes too bleak for dreams.
He is quite possibly the worst horse to find her. For one, he hates fire. It takes away the shadows. Warmth and light and fire are not his things. He’s a boy of the shadows and darkness and cold. He’d known destruction and death (so much of it at his own hands) at too young an age to be anything but what he was. And besides that problem, he knows nothing about children. It’s not like he could actually be counted on to raise a child into something functional. He hardly talks, prefers fighting to diplomacy, and doesn’t know what manners are.
He can just take to the girl to Demian or something.
To be fair, it takes him a minute to figure out that the foal is in fact a mare. And then it takes him another minute to be convinced she’s actually a horse, after she turns to a chick and then back to horse again. He’s been watching from the shadows, standing within a small copse of trees, his own shadow blanket pulled tight around him. It was no longer solid armor for war, though it looks like a normal horse coat and hid the cuts and bruises that littered his skin from the battle. Damn elastic horse – his neck still hurt.
Finally though, he wanders out to the girl when no one else approaches. She’s in the Valley, trespassing if you ask Rhonan without a recognizable mother around. But then again, the thing probably didn’t even know where she was. Not that Rhonan really cared, but he was trying, which is more than he can usually manage. “Are you….alright?” he asks awkwardly, coming to a stop near the filly, who’s still sprawled on the grass. He really doesn’t know what he’s actually supposed to do here.
rhonan.
dark wolf of the valley
