02-27-2017, 11:32 PM
Ruan
Somehow, he was surrounded and yet alone. Cold, distant, so empty. Did the fragments of his mind show in the blue of his eyes? Were they the eyes of a wolf or a horse? Sometimes he looked down and found he was confused to see hooves, only to feel so stupid afterward. Only to shrink further into himself where they couldn't find him, couldn't see that the wildness was his true self, found and released by the one that loved him.
But could she love the real him?
I live in Sylva, she answered. Not in search of a home, then. He nodded acknowledgement, but remained silent. Always so silent. She followed with what she might have come for, curious to know more about the lands. ...and who leads them, and what they think of the future. His brows just barely tugged closer, thoughtful, uncertain where this was going. Was there a purpose to know these things if she lived elsewhere?
I do, he said simply. I lead them. He wasn't alone in it, and it was Reagan who was responsible for the way things were set up. He was the one that fails to impress, the one that can never seem to meet expectations. The one to shy away from the traditional way of things, to fight against the cage of the norm and try to claw his way out of society's boundaries. To just be him. To just be free.
Where was the purpose in ranks? Where was the purpose in segregating the people into categories, slapping labels like name-tags and sending them on their way. This was their home, and if they loved it they would seek to defend it, protect it. They would want to fill it with love, joy, companionship and family. They were all responsible for this forest, for each other. For the pack.
He shook his head, brushing away his own thoughts with a light shrug. Their are.. guards, and diplomats. Why did it taste so bad on his tongue? This was what was normal, this was what was right. He was the one that couldn't fit in the box, that felt the walls and tried to get right back out. He was the one that didn't quite fit.
He glanced to the side a moment, taking in the thick redwoods of home, the sunlight dancing across scattered leaves and needles. This was his home. And maybe he was the only one that truly belonged in this wilderness. The beast in his mind agreed, wanted to break free and run. But it wasn't supposed to be there. He was born horse, would die horse. Could only become wolf with her magic. Why did it feel like a lie to tell himself that teeth and fur and claws wasn't the real him?
He turned back to her again, suddenly needing to know. How is your Sylva run?
Do you like boxes and cages too?
But could she love the real him?
I live in Sylva, she answered. Not in search of a home, then. He nodded acknowledgement, but remained silent. Always so silent. She followed with what she might have come for, curious to know more about the lands. ...and who leads them, and what they think of the future. His brows just barely tugged closer, thoughtful, uncertain where this was going. Was there a purpose to know these things if she lived elsewhere?
I do, he said simply. I lead them. He wasn't alone in it, and it was Reagan who was responsible for the way things were set up. He was the one that fails to impress, the one that can never seem to meet expectations. The one to shy away from the traditional way of things, to fight against the cage of the norm and try to claw his way out of society's boundaries. To just be him. To just be free.
Where was the purpose in ranks? Where was the purpose in segregating the people into categories, slapping labels like name-tags and sending them on their way. This was their home, and if they loved it they would seek to defend it, protect it. They would want to fill it with love, joy, companionship and family. They were all responsible for this forest, for each other. For the pack.
He shook his head, brushing away his own thoughts with a light shrug. Their are.. guards, and diplomats. Why did it taste so bad on his tongue? This was what was normal, this was what was right. He was the one that couldn't fit in the box, that felt the walls and tried to get right back out. He was the one that didn't quite fit.
He glanced to the side a moment, taking in the thick redwoods of home, the sunlight dancing across scattered leaves and needles. This was his home. And maybe he was the only one that truly belonged in this wilderness. The beast in his mind agreed, wanted to break free and run. But it wasn't supposed to be there. He was born horse, would die horse. Could only become wolf with her magic. Why did it feel like a lie to tell himself that teeth and fur and claws wasn't the real him?
He turned back to her again, suddenly needing to know. How is your Sylva run?
Do you like boxes and cages too?
