12-14-2017, 11:36 PM
my words are unerring tools of destruction
He was not meant to be a lost boy. He was not un unwanted child, an unloved child, a child of convenience. It was an accident – he’d been napping, and she had been a little ways away, and when he woke he wandered off before she could catch him. Even now, perhaps Darking is looking for her colt, but it is days later, and surely the trail is cold.
And besides any attempts he has made to find her, and she him, the fact is that a reunion hasn’t happened. But this mare has found him, and speaks softly, and fed him. He is warm now, tucked up against her side and pleasantly full, and yearns for the safety she has offered him. There is the smallest part of his little fuzzy brain that prickles uncomfortably, reminding him of his quest for his mother, but already he is drifting away from those thoughts.
So he goes.
Perhaps she will become impatient at the slow speed of traveling with a colt, but more likely since she chose to pick one up in the Forest, she will be willing to travel the speed of a curious toddler. Femur steers their general direction but as his energy level rises, Gansey starts to give in to his curious nature, flitting back and forth across the path to look at a mushroom there, a colorful butterfly here, a twisted branch above his head. “Where are we going?” he asks early on, and that is only the beginning of a litany of questions, some more logical than others. Why are some trees taller than others? How do baby birds learn how to fly? How can worms breathe underground? And so on, and so forth.
It grows warmer around them, humid, and he wrinkles his nose at the strange scent until it grows familiar. “It smells kind of funny,” he says carefully, trying not to offend, but scampering back from his wanderings to walk closely to Femur again anyway.
And besides any attempts he has made to find her, and she him, the fact is that a reunion hasn’t happened. But this mare has found him, and speaks softly, and fed him. He is warm now, tucked up against her side and pleasantly full, and yearns for the safety she has offered him. There is the smallest part of his little fuzzy brain that prickles uncomfortably, reminding him of his quest for his mother, but already he is drifting away from those thoughts.
So he goes.
Perhaps she will become impatient at the slow speed of traveling with a colt, but more likely since she chose to pick one up in the Forest, she will be willing to travel the speed of a curious toddler. Femur steers their general direction but as his energy level rises, Gansey starts to give in to his curious nature, flitting back and forth across the path to look at a mushroom there, a colorful butterfly here, a twisted branch above his head. “Where are we going?” he asks early on, and that is only the beginning of a litany of questions, some more logical than others. Why are some trees taller than others? How do baby birds learn how to fly? How can worms breathe underground? And so on, and so forth.
It grows warmer around them, humid, and he wrinkles his nose at the strange scent until it grows familiar. “It smells kind of funny,” he says carefully, trying not to offend, but scampering back from his wanderings to walk closely to Femur again anyway.
gansey
and I've become unequipped with the ability to disarm them
@[Femur]