silver rings and gypsy bells; any

[Offspring]

lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all.
but lend me your heart and i'll just let you fall.

   Fatherhood was something that he had once cherished. He savored the feel of their petal-soft kisses on his shoulders, of their gentle voices and the pure innocence that they exuded. It was an invigorating high in and of itself to see one's own progeny grow and develop physically and mentally; to see what pieces of one's own persona they obtain. It had been many, many years since he, himself, had that joy - but he had found something in place of it.

   After being abruptly startled by a young colt mere weeks ago, he had found himself somehow entangled in a predicament he had not anticipated. The boy was a stubborn, fiery spitfire of constant fervor - and he had grown to enjoy his presence. Though he often asked too many questions (he lacked a filter, and saw right through him when he attempted to remain stoic and indifferent to his inquiries) and he had a tendency to use humor where it was inappropriate, he could not deny that the way the small boy nestled against him in the dead of night (summer was only a breath away - but the icy confines of the tundra were always chilling to the bone) warmed his heart in a way he had not experienced in many decades.

   Though he did not often act as a father figure (Thaniel was too obstinate and steadfast), he took every opportunity to teach and nurture his understanding of the world around him. What had begun as a mild annoyance had come a warm, soothing companionship that dulled the ache of loneliness that he so often felt. As his crimson eyes study the fragile, beautiful features of the young filly before him, he can feel the same longing as he had with his own kindred.

   He cannot hide his smile from her; his features softened as he lifts his head, watching as she brings herself closer to him. She is too young to know the danger of such a large creature, but old enough to be definitively curious and understanding of how unusual it was. He can feel her teeth gently brush against his pelt and a deep chuckle rumbles from deep within as he stares into her large, doe-eyed blue eyes. She reminded him of a daughter from long ago; and it drew him to her closer still.

   Her soft, sinless words caused his shoulders to shake with quiet laughter, his tangled obsidian tresses lapping at his jawline as he shakes his head slightly. He pauses to respond, but grows tense - the muscles flexing beneath his taut skin as he casts a glance towards the source of noise that had suddenly appeared. He finds himself at ease soon, though - he studies the leopard-spotted male approach slowly; his muscles are lax and his demeanor is casual by far. He is still wary (he knows of him; he was like many others in appearance) but his wry smile and sharp remark cause him to roll his own eyes.

   A comedian. How charming.

   His lips pull up in a single corner; a smirk given as he observed the eyeless one. His broad, lustrous wings are something to envy and his markings are not only unusual, but visually appealing - but the dry, empty sockets of scar tissue that remain suggest an obvious lack of vision and he pauses for a moment to wonder how he might know of Offspring's height, or if he knows at all.

   "You have no idea, Demian," He chuckles dryly, thinking of his mother's constant disdain for his presence, his appearance and his existence. She was more than likely more perturbed by him than frightened, but he would not discuss it aloud. He allowed those memories to remain buried and unshared; they did not need to come to the surface. There was no reason for it. "and what brings the King of the Valley here?" He muses softly, glancing for a moment to the young girl, who has since turned the same deep obsidian he himself was. He couldn't resist smiling again, brushing her soft shoulder with his muzzle. "When I was little, I was the very same size you are now - but when I got older, much older, I grew. Just like you will - but probably not as tall as me."

OFFSPRING