i know i'm not the center of the universe
-but you keep spinning 'round me just the same
As he’s grown older, the soft strands of his child’s mane have begun to twist into longer strands, twining with the coarser hairs of an adult. His time in the water binds them tighter, and Mother has given up on trying to groom them out. Ivar has told her that he is grown now, that he doesn’t need his mother to worry with how he looks, that he likes the way the corded locks feel against his skin. (They looks silly, truly, half-grown and dangling, but perhaps in a year or so they might be something close to intriguing).
The young colt is lying half-in the water, watching an exceptionally brave minnow spin curiously around his white forelegs. The crunch of hooves on leaves doesn’t startle him, and he only flicks one ear back with the cool disinterest of an overconfident young predator. When he breathes in a familiar scent though, the indifference falls away.
“Dad!” He says, turning his head up toward his father and startling the silvery fish back into the safety of deeper water. “Hey!”
“She’s somewhere else,” He replies, repeating the familiar phrase. Sometimes Ivar knows where Djinni is, but most times he does not. Today, she’d most likely looking out at the sea, where she has been in her free time ever since Pangea fell. She won’t tell him why she watches the water, but he knows better than to ask. He loves his parents, but they are not always the most forthcoming of creatures.
Stillwater comes to lay in the water beside him, and Ivar leans against the older stallion contentedly. He is not too old for physical affection yet, and he enjoys the comfort of his father at his side.
“I went to Ischia,” he replies. “I like the saltwater, and they have a jungle and springs and Kylin showed me the worst flowers ever. And I went to the bottom of Hyaline and Warrick showed me the volcano in Tephra. I did not like that – too much smoke and the water is too warm – but they have beaches like Ischia. The Taiga is like Sylva, but they have pine trees and it is colder.” He chatters happily, leaving out details that he has forgotten or finds unimportant. “I want to go to Loess,” he tells his father, “That’s the only place I haven’t been.”
When he is asked about his favorite, it takes him a while to answer. He has liked all of them; each had their own appeal. Still, none are yet better than Sylva, where his family and his crescent pond are always there for him to return to. “This is my favorite.” Says the piebald colt. “I like it here best.” For now, he doesn’t say (doesn’t yet know). Someday, something might beckon him away from the fire forest where he was born, but it has not yet come.
-------------------i v a r
------------------------------------djinni and stillwater--------------------------------- |
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