06-19-2015, 01:44 AM
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I'LL SAY "YOU HAVEN'T MET ME, I AM THE ONLY SON." His figure strikes a haggard and slumping pose as he tirelessly trudges his way back to her. It is perhaps the hottest part of the day, but it is tempered by a slightly cooling breeze. The sky is brilliantly clear with the sun strongly beating down upon his weary body, but the wild child is uplifted by the good weather. His hope is as radiant as the rays of light that currently enfold him in warmth. His long journey seems to have come to end. His hazel eyes blink furiously at the sudden appearance of his heart’s desire. He shakes his head in disbelief – this was surely a mirage. But the longer he stared, the more solid she appeared to be. She may have changed slightly, but he thinks she would always remain recognizable to his childish heart. There seems to be a short standoff with both contenders eagerly, desperately even, drinking each other in until their hearts overflow with too many feelings at once. She is the first to break their contest. This is of no surprise to the wild child for where she leads, he would gladly follow. It is merely one word, one whisper, but it is enough; he hears all he needs from her. After years of solitude, the wild child has remained quite skittish of contact, but he does not hesitate when it comes to her. He quickly eats up the painful distance and attempts to drown himself in her embrace. He has come home at last. A fleeting word, a memory even, comes forth and he finally addresses her with all his overwhelming affection. “Ima!” He remembers the others who were hers; he remembers them using this name for her. “Lost. Long time. Scared. But home. Home with you.” He finds it a strange thing that he no longer barely reached his nose to the middle of her chest - his face was much closer to her own now. Perhaps he will grow taller, but his years of malnourishment might have stunted his growth. Of course, none of this would ever concern the wild child. He had survived and he was found once more. Their reunion was interrupted by a flurry of wings and muffled hooves and the wild child is quick to withdraw from her in order to protect her. But his fury is immediately softened when a red and winged child stands before the pair with a silent curiosity. His hazel eyes compare her wings to the golden ones of her and he turns questioningly back to her. Was this another of hers for him to protect as well? He remembers the boy who was gentle and kind to him (who tried so hard to gain his trust) and the gregarious little girl who would speak with the many desert animals. They were hers; this meant they were his to watch over. MUNROE -- and now I am sure my heart can never be still |