HOCKETY, POCKETY, WOCKETY, WACK
Had the sky overcast so much back home? Had the clouds, the collection of water vapors, sported such burned edges?
Sometimes Weir couldn’t remember what home was like, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The Dale had taken a special place in his life, and the beautiful Camrynn, the Desert Queen, she had snared his heart. But home, sometimes he missed it, the familiar faces. Gathering together on a winter night to share the heat of one’s own furnace. There was little and less of that in the Dale, but he was determined to make that change. He couldn’t give up on the little kingdom, couldn’t release the pull that had brought him here. Enough of fruitless, downtrodden thoughts though.
Thunderheads loomed, threatening to break, to spill to the earth their burden of moisture. Weir followed closely a box tortoise, a perfectly pristine male. His shell domed up and around at the most appealing curve, and his orange eyes were bright and intelligent. They both speed over the meadow, a lethargic crawl, Weir rarely ran anywhere. In fact, he hardly was caught going for more than a steady stroll. Herman, as he liked to call the turtle, was strutting just ahead. He didn’t seem to mind the roan’s curious nature, his unusual desire to inspect him and the other turtles closely. Too closely for most, after all, it was quite scary to have such a large head by your very small body.
“You know Herman, back home it didn’t call for rain nearly as much.” He spoke almost absentmindedly to the shelled creature. His amber eyes sweeping up from the terrain and falling over another horse not far off. Weir, ever the optimist, made a b line for the unknown. There was no room to be spooked, the good natured stag approaching so slowly. Carefully, purposefully, but slowly all the same. Herman continued on his way, not even looking back, probably pleased to be free of Weir's chatter. “Hello there young fellow, I’ll say, I am clean now as I’ve ever been.” An indirect comment on the weather, his brow creasing. “How many times I shall be required to bathe I do not know,” his russet head lifts towards the heavens questioningly before dipping again. Amber orbs falling to the boys feet, auds swiveling forward with interest. He adjusts his neck, leaning down to peer closely at the archs of electricity, his muzzle threatening to become much too close for safety.