i know i'm not the center of the universe
-but you keep spinning 'round me just the same
“Cold,” he replies truthfully, “but not winter cold. More like…something else.” He cannot find the words, cannot think of a sensation that is exactly like being at the bottom of the lake. There was pressure and cold and sunlight and fish in the water and he felt a thrill inside his chest that was like the thrill of his crescent pond but ten thousand times bigger.
“I wish you could see it too.” is what he says instead, and hopes that the delight of the experience is conveyed enough. “It was wonderful.”
They race across the sand, though Ivar does’nt care about being the victor. He only enjoys the exertion and the feel of the warm sun on his back. He waits with bated breath as she pushes aside the wide leaves, unveiling the path into the heart of the jungle. The green sights, raucous parrots, and humid air fill and nearly overwhelm his senses. He is left dumbstruck for a while, and simply follows her without a word.
When Kylin stops, Ivar is too busy looking around to notice.
He bumps into her (gently, he was only ambling along), his dark chest pressing awkwardly against her rump for a moment before he steps back with a murmured apology and lowered eyes. Embarrassment doesn’t quell his natural curiosity for long though, and he looks up as Kylin asks after the beauty of the Ischian jungle.
“Well…” He says pensively, head tilting side to side as though he must really consider the answer.
“I suppose it’s rather nice here.” He finally says, but there’s a curl at the edge of his pink lips that suggest he’s only a breath away from laughter. Trying to hold it in, the piebald colt turns to look more closely at the hibiscus flowers that they have paused beside. He lowers his nose a bit, inhaling softly.
Well, he’d tried to inhale softly. But now there is pollen in his nose and he’s sneezing, which only shakes the other flowers and puts more pollen in the air, and he sneezes again. One, two, three more sneezes and he’s finally able to catch his breath.
“I take that back,” he says with a good-natured scowl that melts into a smile even with his watering eyes. “I like the lake much better. There’s no flowers there.”
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