08-10-2016, 08:39 AM
Rowling
Rowling wouldn’t know the first thing about being rude, not intentionally anyway. He simply could not hear, not a peep or a caw or a hoot. The little roan had not intentionally ignored the bird, it was something that couldn’t be helped. Even as the little avian roused calls louder and louder from its clacking beak he could not decipher the notes, nor would he ever. The surprise is not an unwanted one, it was simply that, a surprise. A brand new experience right in front of him and he was just a bit taken off guard. The remedy to such is easy coming, for Rowling was eager to accept a playmate, even if it was a bird.
The boy looked happily from his own mimicry of the animals shape, the one he had fashioned for it with snow. He was pleased with his work and was happy to see that his new bird friend seemed just as delighted in its making. For a moment he thought that if the bird liked this creation then perhaps it would like some more. However, before he could summon a shape of another feathered friend the black bird before him was rolling away- tumbling. How strange, Rowling could not recall ever seeing a bird tumble back in such a way, perhaps his new friend was ill. Ill, how dreadful and they had only just met. It isn’t that though, a sickness, it is something even more unusual and he took jerks his head back wildly as his friend takes a new shape.
Now before, there had been a bird, black and dark and happily clacking its beak. Now, now there was another horse, a girl, all fluff with a tiny horn on her head. Rowling was so very confused, not knowing what to make of the situation. His amber eyes widened, the whites peaking around the golden hues of his iris, uncertainty with a lick of fear mixed in. He can’t help the squeal of surprise that leaves his sooty lips, she had completely bewildered him in the blink of an eye. Then he is finding his feet, pushing himself up from the fresh powder in which they play and reeling back a few steps, chest heaving. What kind of Magic was this?
She is up too, pressing near him again and reaching out her nose, ears wiggling, tail happy. Rowling would have liked to be just as friendly but he didn’t fully understand what had happened. The girl’s mouth moves and he knows she must be speaking, or making noise at him of some sort but of course he can’t hear that either. In response frosty shapes spin in the air, question marks littering the space around him as he doesn’t know how else to express his concerned thoughts that roll about his head. What happened, why did it happen, how did it happen? Rowling had seen some interesting things in his short life but he had yet to see anyone shapeshift, especially not a child. Would he have been less taken back if it were an adult? Maybe.
The boy looked happily from his own mimicry of the animals shape, the one he had fashioned for it with snow. He was pleased with his work and was happy to see that his new bird friend seemed just as delighted in its making. For a moment he thought that if the bird liked this creation then perhaps it would like some more. However, before he could summon a shape of another feathered friend the black bird before him was rolling away- tumbling. How strange, Rowling could not recall ever seeing a bird tumble back in such a way, perhaps his new friend was ill. Ill, how dreadful and they had only just met. It isn’t that though, a sickness, it is something even more unusual and he took jerks his head back wildly as his friend takes a new shape.
Now before, there had been a bird, black and dark and happily clacking its beak. Now, now there was another horse, a girl, all fluff with a tiny horn on her head. Rowling was so very confused, not knowing what to make of the situation. His amber eyes widened, the whites peaking around the golden hues of his iris, uncertainty with a lick of fear mixed in. He can’t help the squeal of surprise that leaves his sooty lips, she had completely bewildered him in the blink of an eye. Then he is finding his feet, pushing himself up from the fresh powder in which they play and reeling back a few steps, chest heaving. What kind of Magic was this?
She is up too, pressing near him again and reaching out her nose, ears wiggling, tail happy. Rowling would have liked to be just as friendly but he didn’t fully understand what had happened. The girl’s mouth moves and he knows she must be speaking, or making noise at him of some sort but of course he can’t hear that either. In response frosty shapes spin in the air, question marks littering the space around him as he doesn’t know how else to express his concerned thoughts that roll about his head. What happened, why did it happen, how did it happen? Rowling had seen some interesting things in his short life but he had yet to see anyone shapeshift, especially not a child. Would he have been less taken back if it were an adult? Maybe.
the mind is not a book to be opened at will and examined at leisure