05-04-2017, 12:35 PM
As the days grow shorter, so too does the time that Ivar spends by his mother's side. Her milk has long since dried up, but he finds comfort in her presence and still sleeps beside her at night. Once - only once - he had dozed off at the bottom of his crescent pond, waking to find the water around him black and still rather than filtered through with twilight. Ivar can't name the sensation he had felt; tranquility is a concept he has never learned. But as he swam back to the shore and tucked himself into Djinni's grey side, he kept one watchful brown eye on the water, and wondered what it would be like to stay there forever.
He's just left the water today as well, but it was a brief swim, just long enough to drench his pies coat and catch a smallmouth bass with a crooked fin. The fish in his pool have grown fewer as Ivar grows larger; even the minnows hide when his shadow hits the water. He's equally satisfied with the grass that he's currently grazing, but the thrill of hunting is something else entirely.
The hoofsteps in the woods are nothing new, and the smoky black colt doesn't think to call out a hello to whomever it might be. They'll see him or they won't, but he looks up when they pass by regardless.
It's a filly, one his own age. She is very still, and the expression in her eyes is not so very different from that in the bass' when it realized it was caught. His heartbeat catches for a moment, and he takes a step forward without thinking. It's a little to the left and a little forward, a subconscious motion that limits escape.
When she speaks though, he smiles, and anything predatory vanishes with the appearance of his good-natured grin.
"Hey!" He says, tilting his pale face to the side and glancing curiously at the wings at her sides. They remind him a bit of Bristol's, and he wonders if this bay roan pegasus is related to his friend. "I'm Ivar. Who're you?"
He's just left the water today as well, but it was a brief swim, just long enough to drench his pies coat and catch a smallmouth bass with a crooked fin. The fish in his pool have grown fewer as Ivar grows larger; even the minnows hide when his shadow hits the water. He's equally satisfied with the grass that he's currently grazing, but the thrill of hunting is something else entirely.
The hoofsteps in the woods are nothing new, and the smoky black colt doesn't think to call out a hello to whomever it might be. They'll see him or they won't, but he looks up when they pass by regardless.
It's a filly, one his own age. She is very still, and the expression in her eyes is not so very different from that in the bass' when it realized it was caught. His heartbeat catches for a moment, and he takes a step forward without thinking. It's a little to the left and a little forward, a subconscious motion that limits escape.
When she speaks though, he smiles, and anything predatory vanishes with the appearance of his good-natured grin.
"Hey!" He says, tilting his pale face to the side and glancing curiously at the wings at her sides. They remind him a bit of Bristol's, and he wonders if this bay roan pegasus is related to his friend. "I'm Ivar. Who're you?"