seal my heart and break my pride; any

[munroe]

MUNROE. The wild child doesn’t try and get himself lost. It seems that trouble has permanently attached itself to his spirit and has had a grand time of it too. First, it was that tragic mess with his first adopted mother. Secondly, he was separated from Ima with that freak sandstorm and wandered the desert alone for a couple of years. Lastly, he was plucked from the desert and dropped into utter chaos with the most evil creature to ever walk this earth (not that he was entirely clear of these details just yet). It was enough to exasperate any mother, let alone one who had enough things on her plate to worry about. Munroe wasn’t one to be overly bothered by pesky insects. He had quickly learned that rolling about in the dust was quite effective in lessoning the annoyance of the biting flies. He really didn’t put much care into his appearance. His mane and tail were usually ruffled and windblown and his frame still reflected the lean and harsh times he had survived on his own. He was beginning to gain back some weight but for the most part an unflattering skinniness still clung to his heavily mustang-influenced build. He is quite startled when the fake-nice girl suddenly shrieks and half-rears. His eyes don’t see anything that would cause such a dramatic course of action and he half-heartedly glares at the girl. After a moment or two he realizes that a larger than normal horse fly has taken quite a liking to her immaculate coat and he tries to stifle a chuckle at her lack of decorum. Such a drama queen! He’s dealt with worse things than pesky flies and yet she was acting like she was on fire. He snorts dismissively. “Merely bug. Why carry on so?” His previous mind-freezing panic had been broken and now he regards her with a quiet aplomb. He had never been one to shy away from confrontation. The wild child instead remained standoffish to others not of Ima’s kin. He was like a desert coyote – small and unassuming, yet vicious when threatened. But with this girl, he sensed a bone-deep unkindness. He didn’t trust her one bit at face value. “Wrong. Incorrect. Inaccurate. Color is off.” It rankles that this girl seems to truly believe he’s unintelligent by the way she continues to speak slowly and pretentiously at him. He doesn’t like the forced niceness that accompanied her look of distaste. But he’s never catered to the games of politics or diplomats. He remained honest and straightforward – unwilling to censor his true opinions. Munroe sends the girl a pointed look of disapproval. “You’re a snake.” If he was a coyote, then this girl was a hidden viper in the sand - a cobra that could mesmerize most before going in for the kill. She was something you couldn’t trust to not poison you in the end.