07-05-2019, 09:50 PM
Tommin knows about monsters. They had been the villians of his childhood fairy tales, stories that his father had muffled to him in his choppy and uncoordinated language, half stories and part stories, stories that were never finished because the effort of speaking had been too much on his deaf father and his slurred words. Tommin had finished the stories himself, he knew enough about the fantasy of illusion to know that there was a happy ending, even after the most terrible trials. As he grew older, Tommin also realized that in reality the happy ending was not always the one people experienced in life. That sometimes death was the happiest ending, a release from all that is bad in one‘s life. It was a dull thought, and not one that Tommin wished to dwell upon immensely. He was determined, with almost a foolish, youthful sort of passion, that his life would not be dark and dreary and sorrowful, even at a time like this, when he is so, so very alone in this big giant world. And so he does not see being in this strange land, all lone as a bad thing, or a negative thing. He sees it as something new to be explored, to be pulled apart and taken away until it was as acceptable as being in his own home with his own parents. He smiles, even when there is no reason to. Even when he is aware that there are monsters out there, in this very meadow. Aware that they are there, that there are others out there, that is, not that those out there, roaming about are actually monsters and most of them would probably not be the best company for him to keep. He was still just a young, little boy. Maybe not so little anymore, as he edges past the age of a yearling. His legs are still lanky, but his neck begins to grow thicker, and he grow stockier, muscle slowly building, but with the softness of his mother’s face and the brightness of his father’s eyes. It is not surprising that the most innocent parents have produced such an innocent looking son. He likes the snow, has always liked the snow. The way he can leave hoof prints behind him anywhere he went. Tommin could know exactly where he has been, while the unmarked path before him meant that he could go any where. Any where at all! What a fantastic idea! Those knees lift high as he prances through the snow, listening to that satisfying crunch as each hoof lands upon the snow. He puffs out his red chest as if he were so much larger than he actually was. He had no reason to be afraid, after all, his future was wide open. He could be a knight one day! And knights are not afraid of anything, they are brave and bold and daring. Just like Tommin believed himself to be. The bravest of all knights. Sir Tommin! Oh, he loved how that sounded and as if to prove himself he stomps his feet in the snow, spreading his legs wide and lowering his pale head. It would seem he were fending off an imaginary foe of some sort. He then tosses his head before pushing off from the ground and running through the snow, stretching those young limbs forwards with each stride. He stops only when his heart hammers in his chest and his sides heave with effort. But he quickly attempts to steady his breath as he raises his head once more to throw that bright blue gaze around the meadow. If he was a knight he would need to protect the land, and there could be danger looking around every corner. Tommin knows about monsters. He just doesn't always recognize them. T O M M I N { Run and live fast as we can, throw your clothes and cares behind you to the wind. } |