05-10-2015, 04:57 PM
A storm was coming. Rune could feel it in his bones, in the way the static built along his skin in eager anticipation of the flash of lightning, the crash of thunder. Delight spread across his dark face, lighting up eyes the same color as the storm clouds building in the distance, and he ran to meet them. Any excuse to leave the sand behind was a good one, and an oncoming storm was the best reason of all. Unruly silver-black hair stuck out in every direction from his scruffy little mane and tail, and even his fuzzy baby coat, all painted grey and stormy, stood a little on end. Little rumbles sounded as his hooves hit the ground, faint like echoes of distant thunder.
Sand gave way to grass and trees and flowers, and finally lightning flashed overhead, setting shocks rippling along his skin and crackling in his hair. Joy lit his eyes and sent a grin spreading across his whole face as the thunder rolled. And still he ran, chasing the storm. Rain started to fall, cold and lovely as it struck his skin and coaxed a rumbly little purr out of him. He lived for this.
The little stormchild danced, kicking up his heels and whirling and laughing as a great fork of lightning lit up the sky and sent thunder echoing across the land hard enough to shake his bones. And beneath that most beloved sound, he heard a quiet voice from a nearby bush ask, “Is someone there?”
Startled, he jolted to a stop. Plants could talk? Cool! The gangly little colt bounced over to the shy shrubbery and nosed it eagerly. “Hello, little bush! It’s nice to meet you! My name’s Perun, or if you want, you could call me Rune. I didn’t know shrubberies could say words! Can all of you talk, or are you magic?”
Sand gave way to grass and trees and flowers, and finally lightning flashed overhead, setting shocks rippling along his skin and crackling in his hair. Joy lit his eyes and sent a grin spreading across his whole face as the thunder rolled. And still he ran, chasing the storm. Rain started to fall, cold and lovely as it struck his skin and coaxed a rumbly little purr out of him. He lived for this.
The little stormchild danced, kicking up his heels and whirling and laughing as a great fork of lightning lit up the sky and sent thunder echoing across the land hard enough to shake his bones. And beneath that most beloved sound, he heard a quiet voice from a nearby bush ask, “Is someone there?”
Startled, he jolted to a stop. Plants could talk? Cool! The gangly little colt bounced over to the shy shrubbery and nosed it eagerly. “Hello, little bush! It’s nice to meet you! My name’s Perun, or if you want, you could call me Rune. I didn’t know shrubberies could say words! Can all of you talk, or are you magic?”