She sees him, a young one. Older than a child but younger than an adult. He is a cross between wise and ignorant, does not yet have life experience but yet has enough knowledge to continue living. He continues to flicker into a partial reptile, before it diffuses away like a waxless candle; begging to burn, but failing to hold.
Brine is certainly odd looking, but standing next to the oddly forming reptilian she feels somewhat normal. She was a brittle toy amongst shiny dolls, and flashy toy trucks. She was the toy with a broken part, and a dusty surface with a weird smell. Never tossed away, but never played with either. Perhaps this reptilian has felt the same too. Or not.
She flickers her attention downwards, almost embarrassed at his discomfort. He seems awkward towards her arrival, as he should. As if she has walked in on him naked and exposed; maybe she has. A pause fills the air as he responds with a choked hello, the naivety of his tone echoing off trees and into her ears. The silence is deafening; suffocating, even.
He speaks again, that silence broken and Brine isn’t sure if relief or fear should overwhelm her. Perhaps a little bit of both. Her ears twitch backwards to the sound of a few birds fluttering from their perch, her tail swishes out of habit and perhaps a little bit of irritability. If there is anything she understands, it is the absence of a father. The absence of parents in general, really.
She hardly remembers what her father looks like, only his name whispers into her ear from time to time: Tarnished. Her mother is hardly any different, Exemplary, only with her name comes a faint memory of beauty and grace. Her mother had been around much longer than her father ever had. That was no shock, they wouldn’t see her starve. They would just provide minimal support until she could wean herself away. And then her mother left, as if horse’s were like turtles who never needed to see their parents after fleeing the nest.
“It cannot be hard. Can it?” Brine is not sure; she has never transitioned. Her feathers once left, along with her wings. Had she meant to do that? Likely not. And years later they returned, only today in fact. She hadn’t done anything different today either.
“Brine,” her head bobs with her name, partially from excitement to introduce herself, but also because she had been holding it high and stiff the entire time and it felt good to relax and move.
- Brine -