07-26-2015, 11:48 AM
Oh. It’s on. It’ on like Donkey Kong. Gaza is almost immediately taken back to the days when the three of them, Akbar, Kitra, and himself, frolicked as princes and princess of the Desert. He hasn’t played like this since they disappeared. The stranger tosses his head in response, sending water droplets spraying in an arc from the wet tendrils of his mane, and Gaza turns his head when they hit him on the neck and face. But he is smiling - wide and honestly - and there is a mischievous glint in those sand-gold eyes.
He takes no notice of the scars that criss-cross the dark stallion’s hide, not now at least. He is not here to ask question or to delve into the other’s past. He is here to forget the jagged cracks that mar his own. They are so much less than Drow’s, but in this, perhaps, they can find solace in each other. It is fitting that they should find each other - their beloved parents would surely approve.
His head turns back just in time to catch the second spray from Drow’s lurching body, and as soon Gaza blinks to clear the water from his eyes, he lunges forward, creating a small tidal wave that surges towards the other. Gaza eagerly bounds forward another step, and then pushes up to balance for a moment on his hind legs, before once again coming crashing down. He is free with his boyish laughter, which is so unlike the gravelly voice of his companion. All the frogs and turtles flee the pool, clearly agitated and disturbed by the raucous playtime. If there are fish, they’re probably going a little crazy right now, trying to avoid eight heavy hooves. He doesn’t feel the need to say anything just yet. Introductions will eventually come, but for now the game is ‘who can make the biggest splash?’ and ‘how wet can you make the other one?’
Boys will always be boys. Even when they’re old boys.
[sorry this took so long!
]
He takes no notice of the scars that criss-cross the dark stallion’s hide, not now at least. He is not here to ask question or to delve into the other’s past. He is here to forget the jagged cracks that mar his own. They are so much less than Drow’s, but in this, perhaps, they can find solace in each other. It is fitting that they should find each other - their beloved parents would surely approve.
His head turns back just in time to catch the second spray from Drow’s lurching body, and as soon Gaza blinks to clear the water from his eyes, he lunges forward, creating a small tidal wave that surges towards the other. Gaza eagerly bounds forward another step, and then pushes up to balance for a moment on his hind legs, before once again coming crashing down. He is free with his boyish laughter, which is so unlike the gravelly voice of his companion. All the frogs and turtles flee the pool, clearly agitated and disturbed by the raucous playtime. If there are fish, they’re probably going a little crazy right now, trying to avoid eight heavy hooves. He doesn’t feel the need to say anything just yet. Introductions will eventually come, but for now the game is ‘who can make the biggest splash?’ and ‘how wet can you make the other one?’
Boys will always be boys. Even when they’re old boys.
[sorry this took so long!
]