08-20-2016, 09:20 PM
More and more, they find themselves farther afield than planned.
Farther than the eyes of their mother can see.
Farther than the ice of the Tundra can freeze.
This time, they are in the meadow meandering like foals often do. Sometimes, they bend their heads to the grass, tear it up with their milk teeth then spit it out of their mouths, mimicking the horses around them that do nothing else but eat grass. It is a trifle boring, and soon the twins are kicking up their heels and raising all manner of a ruckus, and no one has a single thing to say about what they are doing or should not be doing. Spear antagonizes Spark until she gives chase to him, and he leads her further astray until they are deep in the meadow, almost to where the grass is comes up past their bellies and starts to touch their shoulders with ticklish green fingers.
Spear and Spark wear out the day, watch as the sun sinks below the meadow’s horizon and still they do not go home to the Tundra.
They stay, as night sinks her claws deep into the belly of the meadow. Neither of them is afraid of the dark and the things that lurk therein, but they remain ever alert, their ears constantly flicking to and fro atop their little heads as they listen to the noises go bump in the night. It almost seems as if they are joined at the hip by how close they stand together, everything done in tandem as though they cannot figure out life separate from one another. Her movements are full of grace and his are not, but as they lack grace, they are full of something else - that masculine fire that fuels him, or maybe it is a quiet strength that makes itself known in the way he is a tad bit taller than her, and the way that his head seems to be held over hers, as if she stands in the shadow of his protection.
She hears a moan and murmurs his name aloud, “Spear…” and there is the subtle flavor of fear in her throat, spicy and strange, as other noises in the night usurp the one that she has heard. Or not usurp but gobble it up and Spark begins to wonder if she imagined it but Spear has turned his head to her and he nods, “I heard it too.” as if he has guessed at his sister’s thoughts; he hasn’t but they are twins nonetheless and share a bond that is, if anything, unshakeable. He hushes her with a press of his lips to her jawbone, tenderly mouthing the shape of her until he reaches back to tug gently upon a hank of mane, “There are always strange noises in the night.” he tells her, pretending to be an expert on the matter but his pretense is flimsy and she sees right through him like she always has.
“Not like that,” she echoes back just as softly, until her eyes (mismatched, one black and the other red) pick apart the dark and find the shape of the stallion emerging from it in a terrible birth of scars and damages, and she is stirred by a combination of curiosity and sympathy that moves her feet towards the stallion spat out of the night. “Are you okay?” she asks him and then Spear is right on her and close enough to eyeball the silver bay stallion with what he thinks is mild disdain but on a foal, it is a silly look. Still, he is designated as Spark’s keeper since he is the older of the two and being the first twin, he bears the responsibility of looking after her. Especially if she is going to do things like this, like talk to a random stallion that doesn’t even appear to be all there really, Spear has narrowed his eyes as he sizes him up like he is a potential challenger to something that Spear cannot even say he really owns - Spark was forever her own character, tucking herself away into the trees or side of her brother as she does now, making herself appear smaller and less of a threat to him. To her, it seems like he is a threat to them but they know to hunker down, stay low, and avoid making him mad.
He is not monstrous to them - not yet; just odd that he chose the night to unveil himself and they stare at him, curious.
Farther than the eyes of their mother can see.
Farther than the ice of the Tundra can freeze.
This time, they are in the meadow meandering like foals often do. Sometimes, they bend their heads to the grass, tear it up with their milk teeth then spit it out of their mouths, mimicking the horses around them that do nothing else but eat grass. It is a trifle boring, and soon the twins are kicking up their heels and raising all manner of a ruckus, and no one has a single thing to say about what they are doing or should not be doing. Spear antagonizes Spark until she gives chase to him, and he leads her further astray until they are deep in the meadow, almost to where the grass is comes up past their bellies and starts to touch their shoulders with ticklish green fingers.
Spear and Spark wear out the day, watch as the sun sinks below the meadow’s horizon and still they do not go home to the Tundra.
They stay, as night sinks her claws deep into the belly of the meadow. Neither of them is afraid of the dark and the things that lurk therein, but they remain ever alert, their ears constantly flicking to and fro atop their little heads as they listen to the noises go bump in the night. It almost seems as if they are joined at the hip by how close they stand together, everything done in tandem as though they cannot figure out life separate from one another. Her movements are full of grace and his are not, but as they lack grace, they are full of something else - that masculine fire that fuels him, or maybe it is a quiet strength that makes itself known in the way he is a tad bit taller than her, and the way that his head seems to be held over hers, as if she stands in the shadow of his protection.
She hears a moan and murmurs his name aloud, “Spear…” and there is the subtle flavor of fear in her throat, spicy and strange, as other noises in the night usurp the one that she has heard. Or not usurp but gobble it up and Spark begins to wonder if she imagined it but Spear has turned his head to her and he nods, “I heard it too.” as if he has guessed at his sister’s thoughts; he hasn’t but they are twins nonetheless and share a bond that is, if anything, unshakeable. He hushes her with a press of his lips to her jawbone, tenderly mouthing the shape of her until he reaches back to tug gently upon a hank of mane, “There are always strange noises in the night.” he tells her, pretending to be an expert on the matter but his pretense is flimsy and she sees right through him like she always has.
“Not like that,” she echoes back just as softly, until her eyes (mismatched, one black and the other red) pick apart the dark and find the shape of the stallion emerging from it in a terrible birth of scars and damages, and she is stirred by a combination of curiosity and sympathy that moves her feet towards the stallion spat out of the night. “Are you okay?” she asks him and then Spear is right on her and close enough to eyeball the silver bay stallion with what he thinks is mild disdain but on a foal, it is a silly look. Still, he is designated as Spark’s keeper since he is the older of the two and being the first twin, he bears the responsibility of looking after her. Especially if she is going to do things like this, like talk to a random stallion that doesn’t even appear to be all there really, Spear has narrowed his eyes as he sizes him up like he is a potential challenger to something that Spear cannot even say he really owns - Spark was forever her own character, tucking herself away into the trees or side of her brother as she does now, making herself appear smaller and less of a threat to him. To her, it seems like he is a threat to them but they know to hunker down, stay low, and avoid making him mad.
He is not monstrous to them - not yet; just odd that he chose the night to unveil himself and they stare at him, curious.