keep a little fire burning; scyla

[Smoak]

Keep a little fire burning;
however small, however hidden.

The steel and ice mare is nowhere to be seen. Smoak grins euphorically as he circles round and round, his champagne body pivoting on its hindquarters as he scans the beach for his aunt. He wonders, briefly, if she could have gotten lost. He takes a stride forward as if to head back into the forest and search for her as a shadow develops swiftly in front of him. The bone-armored colt throws his head upwards, hazel eyes focusing on the diving frame of Scyla.

"Whoa!" he nearly screeches, but he stands his ground as the pegasus swoops low. The wind from her wings rustles the colt's mane and he laughs freely into the ocean breeze as she circles around and nudges him with her hoof. "I wish I could fly!" Smoak yells as he trots towards the landing mare, a mirthful grin placed across his lips. "And it's not cheating, it's stategy," he offers up to the painted mare. A lesson he'd learned from Mom and Dad.

Smoak has come to know when an adult is going to bestow priceless adult-wisdom upon him, so the champagne boy listens closely as Scyla tells him of his heritage. His ears are thrust forward, his hazel eyes bright with delight and intrigue. This new knowledge rests heavy on his head, an invisible crown that he will one day be strong enough to wear. The young boy straightens his stance, squaring his legs to mirror his aunt and he holds his champagne head high as he listens.

"I want to know everything," he gushes as Scyla mentions teaching him about war - it seems a large task, one with lots of responsibility, and he is ready for the challenge. The son of Ellyse paws at the sandy earth beneath him and nods his narrow head to his aunt. "Okay, yeah, cool!" Smoak spins on his lanky appendages and bounds closer to the decreased creature his aunt had spotted.

He takes a moment to sniff the feathered thing and his upper lip curls is disgust. He lifts his fawn-colored head back up before reaching a hoof out to nudge the seagull. No movement. And stinky.

Smoak snorts quietly, bounding his forelegs onto the dead bird. It crunches strangely, its hollow bones dust beneath his hooves. He throws his head upward, hazel eyes finding Scyla with slight amusement in his face.

"Weirrrrrd. Did my Grandma make you do this? Did she make Dad do this?!"

Smoak

lineart colored by sanaa

@[Scyla] >:]