02-09-2022, 01:16 AM
She is confused - but most of them are. Those who got lost on their way to happiness and life, to cheer and warmth and families, those who are alone: they share this kind of confusion when Jokull intrudes on their feelings and their lives, when he forces himself near like a wig driven in. For some it feels like a stake through the heart when he does, but this stake melts and radiates warmth afterwards.
Jokull himself isn’t entirely aware that he forces this innocent kind of happiness upon those he meets. He just loves warm hugs, really. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t get them from a mother; not even in a brief second after his birth, because the ice that the glacier had left on him never melted, but glistens like frosty scales under his mane and over his back and shoulders. He never got licked clean or nursed, his existence is entirely magical and that is what he gives off. A happy kind of magic.
Her question of where he might be from, come from, belong to - it doesn’t matter. Home is as far north as possible, of course, but he doesn’t register the cold - there or on her - as he is resistent to it. He is what he is without asking, and gives what he gives without question. So he looks at her and her red glow and thinks it is pretty; he doesn’t know the hue should be white instead. Red is a pretty colour, one of his favourites next to green. Green and red together would be the best, but her undertone is dark and that’s alright with him too.
”Over there?” he nods to the direction he came from, vaguely towards the nearest stream. There had been another child there and she had been lost, but after spending some time playing with her she had remembered where her mother was and bolted in that direction, so Jokull came here. He makes a bit of a shrugging motion and smiles. ”Where did you come from?” he returns as apparently, this is a normal question to ask when you meet someone - he’d heard little else, at least from adults and they should know.
@Ciri
Jokull himself isn’t entirely aware that he forces this innocent kind of happiness upon those he meets. He just loves warm hugs, really. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t get them from a mother; not even in a brief second after his birth, because the ice that the glacier had left on him never melted, but glistens like frosty scales under his mane and over his back and shoulders. He never got licked clean or nursed, his existence is entirely magical and that is what he gives off. A happy kind of magic.
Her question of where he might be from, come from, belong to - it doesn’t matter. Home is as far north as possible, of course, but he doesn’t register the cold - there or on her - as he is resistent to it. He is what he is without asking, and gives what he gives without question. So he looks at her and her red glow and thinks it is pretty; he doesn’t know the hue should be white instead. Red is a pretty colour, one of his favourites next to green. Green and red together would be the best, but her undertone is dark and that’s alright with him too.
”Over there?” he nods to the direction he came from, vaguely towards the nearest stream. There had been another child there and she had been lost, but after spending some time playing with her she had remembered where her mother was and bolted in that direction, so Jokull came here. He makes a bit of a shrugging motion and smiles. ”Where did you come from?” he returns as apparently, this is a normal question to ask when you meet someone - he’d heard little else, at least from adults and they should know.
@Ciri