the day is gone, the world spins madly on [march babies]

[Ryan]

I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness,
nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory

His mother loves him.
That is the one certainty he has so far, is that Nairne very much adores Ryan. She is all smiles and warmth and concern for her son, her only son, but he catches the way she looks when she is not focused on Ryan. There is a listlessness in her gaze, in the way she moves, and she stares at things that aren’t there.

The gold-and-purple colt doesn’t want to leave her alone, but she insists he must at least try to make friends his own age, and sends him off to the Playground with an insistent, if gentle, shove and leaves, promising to be back before night falls. So here he stands, alone, just inside the border, and her watches the way the world moves around him, uncertain. But he remembers what she has taught him – that his other talents might make people uncomfortable – so he is in horse form, and he is his natural color. Of course, that’s not particularly helpful when your natural color is gold-tinged-mulberry but what’s a boy to do?

But the group is just as colorful. Purples and blues and browns and blacks and whites. Ryan isn’t sure about any of this – the Playground, other children, or games – but he steps into the group anyway after listening a minute, giving a small smile and a nod. “I’m Ryan,” he introduces himself, looking at each of them. “What about hide-and-seek?” It’s one of the other games he knows, as it’s one of the only ones he and his mother can play just the two of them.

Ryan

( I love only that which they defend. )