02-26-2017, 05:12 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-26-2017, 06:20 PM by The Tin Man.)
The Tin Man's nose is nearly in the water by the time another horse speaks, and luckily he snorts from surprise instead of inhaling.
Tobiano, he thinks automatically about the mare, like he calls himself snowflake. Their coats are common where he lives, and it sparks another pang of longing. But he's never seen a horse with green eyes before. Blue, pink, or lighter brown--not green. The Small Ones have green eyes, his memory tells him. They have even more colors than us...
When he tries to remember what the Small Ones actually looked like, he also remembers that the mare asked him a question. "Oh. Uh... Sorry, I'm not very fast at anything today." The water's done a lot for getting rid of the scratchiness, and his real voice starts coming back: A surprisingly young tenor, as if his voice stopped growing past two or three years old. He shakes his mane--or tries, since it's still stiff from the seawater. "Really, I'm just glad if nobody tries to kill me before I can run properly. My name..."
He already knows his name, but another memory comes unbidden: Don't worry, little guy, someone said about him. He looks hard as fuck, but he's a softy. Just listen to him talk!
Well, apparently he intimidates foals when he's not lost with a gimpy leg. "I'm the Tin Man."
Tobiano, he thinks automatically about the mare, like he calls himself snowflake. Their coats are common where he lives, and it sparks another pang of longing. But he's never seen a horse with green eyes before. Blue, pink, or lighter brown--not green. The Small Ones have green eyes, his memory tells him. They have even more colors than us...
When he tries to remember what the Small Ones actually looked like, he also remembers that the mare asked him a question. "Oh. Uh... Sorry, I'm not very fast at anything today." The water's done a lot for getting rid of the scratchiness, and his real voice starts coming back: A surprisingly young tenor, as if his voice stopped growing past two or three years old. He shakes his mane--or tries, since it's still stiff from the seawater. "Really, I'm just glad if nobody tries to kill me before I can run properly. My name..."
He already knows his name, but another memory comes unbidden: Don't worry, little guy, someone said about him. He looks hard as fuck, but he's a softy. Just listen to him talk!
Well, apparently he intimidates foals when he's not lost with a gimpy leg. "I'm the Tin Man."