Ahh, blissful silence. Odd, that. He supposed that being deaf should mean it's always quiet. However, he lived with a telepathic father and a handful of equally tele-gifted siblings, among an even larger number of differently-gifted other siblings. He was definitely part of a massive, cheerful family that was overflowing with compassion and understanding. Everyone cared deeply for each other, and endured the ups and downs of life together.
They often came to see him, as if checking on him like an invalid, chattering away in his mind about their day and their various relationships. Some would try to coax the same sort of conversation out of him, but usually learned it was hopeless. Or one of the telepathic would translate internally for him if they were among those who couldn't similarly communicate, and also speak for him if he chose to form a reply. It wasn't that he didn't care, of course, he loved his family. But he quickly learned to enjoy what little peace he had, for they always seemed to come three or more at a time.
Perhaps it was naive to take for granted such a gift. He was deaf, but knew the sounds of language within his mind rather than through his ears. He could even respond back clearly, with a telepath present. How many others could say that?
The young stallion lounged lazily in a patch of wildflowers, the warmth of the afternoon gently heating his side. Yellow-buckskin coat mixed like an artist's palette with tobiano splashes of white. His legs and hair were a deep espresso brown, with one hind coronet lipped in white. His coloring stood out in the dark green around him like a daylight-happy sunflower. Yeah, a sunflower, thats what he was. Sunny-yellow and dark brown, eager for the noon rays; and silent, too. He huffed a light chuckle, blowing dusts of pollen into the air from a nearby flower, and passively watching the specks float ever-so gradually down to the soil.
The colors seemed so bright and vivid here, all these different muilticolored flowers. He was uncertain if everyone saw things this way, or if perhaps his lack of one sense boosted others like his sight. Or the scents; crisp and light like mother nature's own perfume. He had heard it was possible, however he didn't really put much stock in the matter. More than likely it was a fantasy of his daydreaming, a pigment of his imagination. He chuckled softly again. It sure was nice here..
They often came to see him, as if checking on him like an invalid, chattering away in his mind about their day and their various relationships. Some would try to coax the same sort of conversation out of him, but usually learned it was hopeless. Or one of the telepathic would translate internally for him if they were among those who couldn't similarly communicate, and also speak for him if he chose to form a reply. It wasn't that he didn't care, of course, he loved his family. But he quickly learned to enjoy what little peace he had, for they always seemed to come three or more at a time.
Perhaps it was naive to take for granted such a gift. He was deaf, but knew the sounds of language within his mind rather than through his ears. He could even respond back clearly, with a telepath present. How many others could say that?
The young stallion lounged lazily in a patch of wildflowers, the warmth of the afternoon gently heating his side. Yellow-buckskin coat mixed like an artist's palette with tobiano splashes of white. His legs and hair were a deep espresso brown, with one hind coronet lipped in white. His coloring stood out in the dark green around him like a daylight-happy sunflower. Yeah, a sunflower, thats what he was. Sunny-yellow and dark brown, eager for the noon rays; and silent, too. He huffed a light chuckle, blowing dusts of pollen into the air from a nearby flower, and passively watching the specks float ever-so gradually down to the soil.
The colors seemed so bright and vivid here, all these different muilticolored flowers. He was uncertain if everyone saw things this way, or if perhaps his lack of one sense boosted others like his sight. Or the scents; crisp and light like mother nature's own perfume. He had heard it was possible, however he didn't really put much stock in the matter. More than likely it was a fantasy of his daydreaming, a pigment of his imagination. He chuckled softly again. It sure was nice here..