seal my heart and break my pride; any

[munroe]

MUNROE. Shock. Panic. Where was Ima? The normally alert wild child had fallen into a strange state of suspension. He didn’t know how to deal with this situation whatsoever. He didn’t have a speck of magic within him to have caused such a drastic change. Unlike Ima. But she was wondrous and warm and home. No way she would have played such a trick on him or left him completely alone like this. She knew how he would react to such extremities – not very well at all, in fact. His time lost in the desert had only served to set back his domestication. And he does not react well to surprise appearances or close quarters of strangers. His brief unawareness is broken by another’s face appearing right next to his within the pool’s rippling reflection accompanied with a sweet voice. But this is not Ima’s soothing words. It’s one without warmth; a voice that appears friendly but underneath lies a distinct apathy or uncaring quality to it. He is swift in putting distance between them and he regards her with a great suspicion. He does not scent Ima on her skin and so he doesn’t consider this stranger as his to help protect. Even though she appeared to be quite young, he would turn on her in a heartbeat if he sensed any true malice. Munroe didn’t really care for the presence of others unless they were Ima’s. Even then, he barely tolerated anybody else’s touch. Ima was the only one to tame the wild child and he remained fiercely loyal to whom he considered a mother. He doesn’t fully understand her first statement as he’s never encountered any mention of imaginary things that go bump in the night. He’s never considered that there might be a spirit world in which unknown things dwelled. He’s certainly familiar with magical things, especially since he lived in a magical kingdom. But he took it at face value and never really questioned its presence. After her second statement, his thoughts are drawn back to the reason he had become panicky in the first place. Glancing down at himself and towards his back, he observes that the green color completely covered his body and was marred only by strange azure blue swirls that ran across his hindquarters. He didn’t understand it one bit. Hazel eyes focus back onto the stranger with a bewildered expression. He never truly learned the fine art of conversation. The wild child had been found and partly raised by a mute mare during his first few months of life. And Ima let him learn at his own pace. His conservational skills consisted of small sentences and few details. But at least he was able to mostly communicate what he wanted to convey. “Wrong. All wrong. Not right color.”