05-12-2016, 06:23 PM
I have only just begun to paw at the ground when Father is standing before me, appearing out of nowhere and stepping through air that was solid a moment ago. Eyes narrowed, I reach out to touch the wall that had confined me, and my nose passes through the space where it had been. He touches my back, and I pin my ears and snake my neck around to bite the air near him. Not him, not making contact, not even truly coming close. Just making my displeasure apparent, as well it should be.
I snort at his explanation, stepping through what used to be a wall just to prove to myself that I can. Tension eases from my back, my neck, my shoulders as air allows me to pass freely, and when I am more calm I turn back to study him. To study both of them. There is something different here. Something in the way their eyes linger on one another. From the way Mother watched Father so intently during the end of our lesson as he described reproduction, and from the new cuts on their skin, I have my suspicions what '...busy' means. It does not seem like a complete answer, however.
Further observation is necessary. Again. Too much I do not know. So much to learn, to sort through, to synthesize. One lesson at a time. It seems this particular lesson is one for both of us. I watch, unblinking, as Father outlines terms. Tilt my head, eyes narrow as I consider his offer. Then I walk the perimeter of the invisible wall, where my small hooves stomped down violets and grass as I explored its boundaries. When I have completed the circle, I meet his eyes, snort, and shake my head. Too small. Far too small.
When I am sure he is watching, I make a significantly larger loop, extending to the edge of the clearing and into the shadow of the trees. Half the size of this place, with enough room to practice maneuvering my body and with at least a few interesting places to explore. If I must be bound, which I suppose I understand given my age and my thus far limited motor control and the vulnerability inherent in my current state, then I require much more space.
When I have completed my circuit and returned to his side, I stare into his eyes, making sure he understands my conditions. I am not unwilling to negotiate, given the reasonable need to protect me from harm while his and Mother's attention was elsewhere. Then I bite my shoulder, tearing the skin enough to let rich dark red trickle slowly down the red-violet of my skin. If we strike a deal, we seal it in blood.
I snort at his explanation, stepping through what used to be a wall just to prove to myself that I can. Tension eases from my back, my neck, my shoulders as air allows me to pass freely, and when I am more calm I turn back to study him. To study both of them. There is something different here. Something in the way their eyes linger on one another. From the way Mother watched Father so intently during the end of our lesson as he described reproduction, and from the new cuts on their skin, I have my suspicions what '...busy' means. It does not seem like a complete answer, however.
Further observation is necessary. Again. Too much I do not know. So much to learn, to sort through, to synthesize. One lesson at a time. It seems this particular lesson is one for both of us. I watch, unblinking, as Father outlines terms. Tilt my head, eyes narrow as I consider his offer. Then I walk the perimeter of the invisible wall, where my small hooves stomped down violets and grass as I explored its boundaries. When I have completed the circle, I meet his eyes, snort, and shake my head. Too small. Far too small.
When I am sure he is watching, I make a significantly larger loop, extending to the edge of the clearing and into the shadow of the trees. Half the size of this place, with enough room to practice maneuvering my body and with at least a few interesting places to explore. If I must be bound, which I suppose I understand given my age and my thus far limited motor control and the vulnerability inherent in my current state, then I require much more space.
When I have completed my circuit and returned to his side, I stare into his eyes, making sure he understands my conditions. I am not unwilling to negotiate, given the reasonable need to protect me from harm while his and Mother's attention was elsewhere. Then I bite my shoulder, tearing the skin enough to let rich dark red trickle slowly down the red-violet of my skin. If we strike a deal, we seal it in blood.