07-28-2016, 12:10 PM
Only Caw told him legends.
Everything else was instinct or decision - his, or the wind’s.
He was a rather wayward child, pushed here and driven there, and he never spared a thought to any of it.
She agrees that it will hurt him but there is no caution in her look or her tone that tells him he should not touch her. Just the stark murmur of instinct in him that says no, don’t do it and his temptation tapers off - Gun, in the end, really doesn’t care. He was never taught much of anything about feelings; learned some along away the way but mostly he’s learned this thing she called him - this alone, and his aloofness is born from that. “Hm,” he mutters, looking away from her now as if she is no longer all that glamorous to him.
Her prattle crowds his ears with an annoying buzz and his sorry eyes are pulled back to her; he cannot help but listen to her unfortunate plight. He could almost taste her bitterness on his tongue and he makes a bitter face in response to it before sliding his eyes away again and saying, “Your pain rewarded you.” Gun, make no mistake, is not sagacious even as this tender malformed thing that he is, but he is sometimes smart enough to puzzle the answers to his own questions like he does now. Pain was the catalyst and even though he’s sure he’s endured pain somehow, it is no match for hers and there must have been lightning in her all along - the pain just sort of, woke it up for her.
Gun will never be like her, like Caw, and maybe he should envy them for that.
He tries, but he cannot. He is horse, not legend, and it is as simple as that.
“Pain…” he mutters;
He thinks back to the hitch in her sentence about her escape.
There is a tale there, will she tell it?
“Why did you escape and why did he hurt you and then not hurt you?” Brave Gun steps closer - close enough that their shoulders could brush. He knows the threat, it is vivid and sparking and dazzles his eyes, but he will foolishly take his chance with her.
Everything else was instinct or decision - his, or the wind’s.
He was a rather wayward child, pushed here and driven there, and he never spared a thought to any of it.
She agrees that it will hurt him but there is no caution in her look or her tone that tells him he should not touch her. Just the stark murmur of instinct in him that says no, don’t do it and his temptation tapers off - Gun, in the end, really doesn’t care. He was never taught much of anything about feelings; learned some along away the way but mostly he’s learned this thing she called him - this alone, and his aloofness is born from that. “Hm,” he mutters, looking away from her now as if she is no longer all that glamorous to him.
Her prattle crowds his ears with an annoying buzz and his sorry eyes are pulled back to her; he cannot help but listen to her unfortunate plight. He could almost taste her bitterness on his tongue and he makes a bitter face in response to it before sliding his eyes away again and saying, “Your pain rewarded you.” Gun, make no mistake, is not sagacious even as this tender malformed thing that he is, but he is sometimes smart enough to puzzle the answers to his own questions like he does now. Pain was the catalyst and even though he’s sure he’s endured pain somehow, it is no match for hers and there must have been lightning in her all along - the pain just sort of, woke it up for her.
Gun will never be like her, like Caw, and maybe he should envy them for that.
He tries, but he cannot. He is horse, not legend, and it is as simple as that.
“Pain…” he mutters;
He thinks back to the hitch in her sentence about her escape.
There is a tale there, will she tell it?
“Why did you escape and why did he hurt you and then not hurt you?” Brave Gun steps closer - close enough that their shoulders could brush. He knows the threat, it is vivid and sparking and dazzles his eyes, but he will foolishly take his chance with her.