06-13-2016, 11:06 AM
MORTAL
prince of the chamber
Mortal is loved, of that he is sure, not because the words pass freely around the Chamber but because the actions of his parents assure him of such things. Mortal is loved and in that love he feels settled, he welcomes it even, though he himself is hardly a boy of displaying such things. If they were to ask he would tell but often others do not permit themselves such actions, don’t exercise their right to knowledge, little as it costs. Even when his Mother secludes herself in the herd lands and his Father disappears into the dark recesses of the pines to mull over what it is to be King. Mortal knows that he is loved because he asks, he observes, he learns- Mortal is certain of things, that’s just how it is.He’s always been an independent child, knowing what he wants and how he means to get it. Knowing that if he can not find those means, then he is to accept that he cannot. Today is a day of learning, of knowing what is beyond the Chamber and even still beyond the Meadow. With the sun on his back and the expanse of grasses falling away behind him, the black colt makes his way to the Forest’s edge.
Against the deep night of skin his mane falls bright and vibrant, more vivid even than the deep greens that hang over him. Spots of ash cling to the intense strands, though the Chamber had long since healed she was forever ashen somehow, spilling her scent of fire into their fur without an ounce to spare. Along his back wings folded but would one know they were there unless the looked? The fingers were easy enough to spot he supposed, tinted black like his fur but the membranes themselves were wholly transparent, see-through and that was perhaps the only curiosity about the boy. Stopping is not a display of fear, because Mortal is not sure to fear something so close to home, it is simply because the trees that burst forth from the ground are ones he has never seen the likes of.
Before him are stretches of oak, and elder, and birch. Trees of different colors and sizes and types, and for now he knows them not by name. For now he knows how soft the leaves are dangling from the nearest one, big and green and fanned out wide to catch the steady rays from the sun. These do not prickle or poke at his skin, instead they caress him like a friend and why should a tree not treat him as such? It is a time before he truly enters the wood, delighting in the textures around him, watching the dapples of light filtering through to the grassy ground below to move gently about as the breeze caught the branches just so.
When he sees the other boy he does not balk, he doesn’t turn or cower but progresses. Mortal has not known fear and is quick to investigate rather than flee, upon closing the gap he offers a low nicker, a hello sorts as he flicks his tail and wonders just who this is. “Hello, I’m Mortal. What do they call you?”
dont wanna hang around the in crowd, the cool kids aren't cool to me
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