07-20-2016, 04:25 PM
Gun could not say that he had done anything for the sake of love.
He ate for the sake of eating.
He breathed for the sake of breathing.
But love? Not that; it was like asking Gun if he had a mother and a father.
Sure, he knew that a stallion and a mare had sex and he was the result of their copulation, one that he assumed was performed carelessly and only because of nature’s demands upon their bodies i.e. stallion sees mare, stallion mounts mare, mare has colt later on. Hence, Gun.
If asked where either of those two nameless ones were now, he had no answer nor had he cared to look for one.
Somehow, abandonment had crept in there and spun his existence down and out this road for him.
Gun is ribs and long legs; lean in muscle, sparse in mane and tail. He is a baby still; hunger scrabbles for purchase at his gut, reminds him that he needs to eat but his black eyes have landed on her - aimless in her run, tarnished silver from the sweat of her exertion, and he cannot look away from her. Sure, she is mesmerizing in a way he cannot put a name to (magician maybe, if he knew what one of those was) but he knows that is not why he stops and stares at her. “Hey you,” he drawls, mannerless and unperturbed by his lack of them; because of her, he forgets the clawing ache in his gut as it sticks to the underside of his spine, like a bat settling into rest, and his hunger hangs heavy in him - misplaced, by the sight of her.
The colt is not smitten, he doesn’t know what that even is!
Just curious, why she runs like a bat straight out of hell.
Maybe ghosts are chasing her, he thinks.
He ate for the sake of eating.
He breathed for the sake of breathing.
But love? Not that; it was like asking Gun if he had a mother and a father.
Sure, he knew that a stallion and a mare had sex and he was the result of their copulation, one that he assumed was performed carelessly and only because of nature’s demands upon their bodies i.e. stallion sees mare, stallion mounts mare, mare has colt later on. Hence, Gun.
If asked where either of those two nameless ones were now, he had no answer nor had he cared to look for one.
Somehow, abandonment had crept in there and spun his existence down and out this road for him.
Gun is ribs and long legs; lean in muscle, sparse in mane and tail. He is a baby still; hunger scrabbles for purchase at his gut, reminds him that he needs to eat but his black eyes have landed on her - aimless in her run, tarnished silver from the sweat of her exertion, and he cannot look away from her. Sure, she is mesmerizing in a way he cannot put a name to (magician maybe, if he knew what one of those was) but he knows that is not why he stops and stares at her. “Hey you,” he drawls, mannerless and unperturbed by his lack of them; because of her, he forgets the clawing ache in his gut as it sticks to the underside of his spine, like a bat settling into rest, and his hunger hangs heavy in him - misplaced, by the sight of her.
The colt is not smitten, he doesn’t know what that even is!
Just curious, why she runs like a bat straight out of hell.
Maybe ghosts are chasing her, he thinks.
ooc: yeah, i did this and it sucks haha. love you!