He knows. He sees the looks – the uncomfortable glances, hesitant words…he knows why he stands alone, tucked safely beneath nearby trees and brush, shrouded by their shade. With dark, nearly bottomless eyes he stares out from his hiding place, his chest tight with what the young colt would come to know as rage when he was able to understand emotion. More importantly, if he ever will understand emotion.
He is different and not in a good way. His outbursts were unsolicited and certain reactions from others to his behavior trigger him even more, causing him more pain, more fury. He couldn’t understand why he was shunned but surprisingly, he wishes he could. He cannot comprehend why his mother punished him for certain things he did (why was stomping on things so bad?) or the looks he was given when he spoke.
Maugrim’s evergreen body, dark and blending in with the underbrush that surrounds him, is small and insignificant within the shadows. Save for the touches of pearlescent lavender that covers him in large patches, he seems to disappear well into his surroundings. He watches the other colts and fillies from a distance, not knowing that if he were to be seen by them that it might make them feel odd. They should be thankful he wasn’t standing out in the open, directly staring at them with a furrowed brow and a thin mouth as they frolicked and played in the sun. He snorts sharply. He’s tried to play, to be a child full of joy and laughter - but he cannot keep up the charade. These things did not interest him.
He thinks about going to the water (the only place he could find peace and feel truly comfortable), but then he would have to cross paths with the foals in the distance. They were in the way. The colt watches them with rising jealousy, stomping a hoof into the dirt as he grinds his teeth.
A butterfly flutters nearby, it’s bright yellow wings catching Maugrim’s keen eye. He snorts amusedly, baring his teeth and pinning his ears against his neck as it flutters close to him. “Don’t.” His voice is metal as he gave his warning to the small insect, unaware that his request will be ignored simply because it is an insect and cannot communicate. It flutters closer, bobbing and weaving in the springtime sun. Maugrim’s heart quickens. He feels nervous, his eyes uncertain as it draws ever nearer.
Suddenly the butterfly is too close and his nerves turn instantly into anger. He lunges forward; bared teeth ready to snap shut on the delicate, yellow wings. Of course, his soft teeth only thump together on air as the butterfly goes on its way. He huffs in disappointment, eyes rolling wildly as he watches the insect ascend – at least it was leaving. He could hear his mother’s voice in his head.
Mind your temper, sweetheart.
He tosses his head aggravatingly before he turns his face back towards the open field, watching intently at the scene before him. His eyes narrow as thoughts enter his mind on how to subdue the equines so that he may get nearer to the water.
m a u g r i m.