01-20-2018, 09:17 PM
It happens rather quickly. He is in the blank, trying not to freak out as other horses begin to appear beside and around him, their names inked in bold black alongside them just like his. He is focused on them, looking for familiar faces, when the world starts to take color again, to become more than weightless and colorless again; instead he is enclosed in a small space, four walls the same brown as the inside of trees locking him in.
He doesn’t panic; his first thought is to spread his wings, mantle defensively, try to fly up; but when he tries to open his wings, there is nothing. That’s when he panics, throwing himself at the walls, screaming for help, blind to the existence of windows and openings in the front of his enclosure. He can smell other horses, hear them begin to react to his panic, but he can’t calm himself – he wants to <i>go home</i>.
<i> “Hey!”</i> the voice interrupts his mindless movements and he freezes, spinning to face the voice. There’s a creature there, crouched on the top of a tree-insides half-wall, balancing on four thin limbs, tail half again longer than his body hanging partially curled down the side. His startled eyes meet the very, very dark wide eyes of the creature as they peer out of a face ringed in a bright white ruff of fur. Gansey breaks the silence with a startled, <b> “What are you?!”</b>
It gives a head tilt, considering him, before responding, his voice a chirrup of sound. <i> “I’m a lemur. But you’re not a horse.”</i>
<b> “I am!”</b> the boy protests, because of <I>course he is a horse</i> whatever this miniature monkey thinks.
<i> “You’re not,”</i> the Lemur says decisively, but lifts one tiny hand to wave away his protests. <i> “But I can give your not-horseness back. Some of it. Probably.”</i>
Not-horseness? Perhaps the lemur means his wings, and he perks his ears in interest, stepping towards the half-wall and the lemur. Whatever a lemur is – though he supposes it’s hairy little monkeys like his new friend. <b> “Yes, please!”</b> he answers with a sweet smile, a child’s smile still on his face though he is a year old nearly.
The lemur shakes his head. <i> “I can’t do it here in this stall. You’ll have to get out – meet me under the apple tree, outside all of the fences, and I can do it there.”</i> And he’s gone in a puff of blue and purple smoke before the disgruntled boy can get a word in edgewise. He blinks in the lemur’s wake and turns a tight circle, taking a real look at the tree-inside walls. Three sides of his strange cave – stall, the lemur said – are solid, floor to ceiling. The ceiling is solid, too, so he supposes it would have been a terrible escape route even if he still had wings. Turning his head, he looks to see what he does have – and it seems other than the lack of feathery appendages, he is his regular self – grullo, no white except the star on his forehead (probably – he can’t see it anymore).
That leaves the half-wall in the front, where the lemur was. Gansey steps up to very base and slowly points his nose out, peering into the gathering gloom. It’s quiet, lots of openings just like his up and down the row, with rough, red, square stones laid upon the floor. Tentatively he pushes against the door, then harder when it doesn’t move; he kicks at it and snorts in frustration. It wiggles, but it doesn’t open; and then from his left: <I> “That won’t work,”</i> and from his right: <i> “Leave the kid be, Harold.”</i> Gansey looks harder into the gloom and can make out two other heads, floating above the tops of the half-walls. <b> “Um…hello? Sirs? How do I get out of here?”</b> Gansey says in his politest voice, looking towards the one called Harold. <I> “You don’t,”</i> says the rather grumpy voice from the right. <i> “The people will let you out when they’re ready.”</i> A pause and then from Harold: <i> “It can be done. It’s that silver pointy thing almost out of reach. It opens.”</i> <i> “Gee Harold, go and give the kid false hope. That’s just great.”</i> <i> “Now Twiz, I know you can do it. You used to all the time. Show the kid how.”</i> <i> “No.”</i> <i> “C’mon he clearly has a life to life – all that ruckus a few minutes ago.”</I> <i>”No!”</i> <i> “Live a little, Twiz! He’s a free spirit!”</I> <I> “No!, Harold.”</I> Impatient, the boy kicks the door again. <b> “Excuse me! Hey!”</b> He interrupts their bickering and silence falls again. <b> “I don’t belong here. Please, help me!”</b> Another long beat of silence. <i> “The latch, kid. Use the latch. That’s all I know.”</i> Harold says gravely, and both heads disappear.
Great. Just great. So helpful. The boy reaches down and starts to touch the silver piece on the half-wall; it’s cold and he shivers, wrinkling his lip before he reaches down again, and is pleased when it wiggles. He wiggles it again and again, finding purchase to pick it up but lifting it isn’t <I>working</i>…and then he grabs it, angry, and kicks hard and the door and it finally, FINALLY swings open! The grullo yearling yelps in surprise and then gives a leap into the aisle with exhuberant joy. <b> “Bye Harold! Bye…uh…Twiz!”</b> And he takes off towards the end of the aisle where he can see the sky, hooves clattering on the strange square rocks.
The air is crisp and very welcome on his face and he extends into a gallop on hard-packed dirt, only to pull up short as something looms ahead of him, and he skids into it, wincing at what he knows will be bruises, and comes around to look at it again. Someone has taken trees and….stacked them together? Gansey pushes at these, noses at them, but they aren’t any more movable than the half-wall. But….it only comes up to his chest. He’s jumped higher, harder, playing with his siblings. Probably. And the moon out here illuminates the otherwise night-dark world, so he thinks he can see it. Taking a deep, steeling breath – the same kind he needs to jump off of cliffs in the real world – Gansey trots away from the barrier and turns slowly to face it and then he’s cantering, galloping, and he launches himself up and over; he misjudges a little and catches one hanging foreleg, snorting at the pain and favoring it for a few steps as he stumbles and then rights himself, cantering onward. When he encounters the second barrier, Gansey corrects his trajectory and grins to himself as he soars over with a clean jump; it’s almost as good as flying. The third and fourth are easy, perfect; he knows know the pace to keep and the launch-point he needs. The fifth fence behind him and he laughs out loud, thrilled to see the trees ahead.
The lemur said under the apple tree.
He’s in a gosh-darned forest.
The boy stops, heaves a sigh, closes his eyes; he takes a moment to stand quietly, letting his heart rate settle. It’s too dark under the cover of the canopy to find the apple tree by sight, but he knows from a sweet apple tree in the meadow at home the scent of the fruit – he will have to go by that. He sets off at a walk, absently sniff the air and every second or third tree. This one’s a willow – that one’s a maple. That one is another maple, and another. But there – on the air – the hint of sweet apple, and he changes course to follow it. He’s skipped a tree, ready to go to the next, when something drops out of the sky and <I>thunks</i> against his back, sending him shying sideways. He lowers his nose to inspect the object, snorting heavily, but jumps again just as he touches the apple with his nose when there is a wild cackle from overhead. Gansey steps close to the tree and looks up, barely making out the face of the lemur perched on a low branch.
<i> “You made it. I didn’t think you would. Most just give up.”</i> He swings over, hanging from one arm and one leg and reaching the other little hand out to Gansey. <i> “Well, come on then. Let’s go get your not-horseness back.”</i>
He’s ready to go home. Gansey reaches his soft nose up and touches the lemur’s hand, and then steps back, blinking because it’s daylight again, and all of the colors seem brighter. The greens are too bright, the apples too shiny; the lemur was brown and black before but now he’s red and…purple? The air smells like berries and sweet grass. <b> “What…”</b> Gansey tries to spread his wings but nothing happens. There are no wings. <i> “Yes, there, that’s better.”</i> The lemur is grinning, and Gansey is frowning. It’s not better – it’s still wrong – he goes to shake his head and the lemur leaps up and back, hissing. <I> “Watch where you swing that thing! Honestly, you unicorns, never thinking of anyone else.”</i>
<b> “Unicorn!”</b> it’s all he can do to exclaim that at first, voice cracking. Everything else he can see is still himself – still fine – but apparently he has a horn instead of wings. <b> “I’m not supposed to be a unicorn, I’m supposed to be a pegasus,”</b> He is irritated now, stomping one foot (ok, it’s childish, but he’s technically still a child). <b> “Can’t you fix it? I don’t need a stupid horn, you creature, I need my wings back so I can go home!”</b>
He doesn’t panic; his first thought is to spread his wings, mantle defensively, try to fly up; but when he tries to open his wings, there is nothing. That’s when he panics, throwing himself at the walls, screaming for help, blind to the existence of windows and openings in the front of his enclosure. He can smell other horses, hear them begin to react to his panic, but he can’t calm himself – he wants to <i>go home</i>.
<i> “Hey!”</i> the voice interrupts his mindless movements and he freezes, spinning to face the voice. There’s a creature there, crouched on the top of a tree-insides half-wall, balancing on four thin limbs, tail half again longer than his body hanging partially curled down the side. His startled eyes meet the very, very dark wide eyes of the creature as they peer out of a face ringed in a bright white ruff of fur. Gansey breaks the silence with a startled, <b> “What are you?!”</b>
It gives a head tilt, considering him, before responding, his voice a chirrup of sound. <i> “I’m a lemur. But you’re not a horse.”</i>
<b> “I am!”</b> the boy protests, because of <I>course he is a horse</i> whatever this miniature monkey thinks.
<i> “You’re not,”</i> the Lemur says decisively, but lifts one tiny hand to wave away his protests. <i> “But I can give your not-horseness back. Some of it. Probably.”</i>
Not-horseness? Perhaps the lemur means his wings, and he perks his ears in interest, stepping towards the half-wall and the lemur. Whatever a lemur is – though he supposes it’s hairy little monkeys like his new friend. <b> “Yes, please!”</b> he answers with a sweet smile, a child’s smile still on his face though he is a year old nearly.
The lemur shakes his head. <i> “I can’t do it here in this stall. You’ll have to get out – meet me under the apple tree, outside all of the fences, and I can do it there.”</i> And he’s gone in a puff of blue and purple smoke before the disgruntled boy can get a word in edgewise. He blinks in the lemur’s wake and turns a tight circle, taking a real look at the tree-inside walls. Three sides of his strange cave – stall, the lemur said – are solid, floor to ceiling. The ceiling is solid, too, so he supposes it would have been a terrible escape route even if he still had wings. Turning his head, he looks to see what he does have – and it seems other than the lack of feathery appendages, he is his regular self – grullo, no white except the star on his forehead (probably – he can’t see it anymore).
That leaves the half-wall in the front, where the lemur was. Gansey steps up to very base and slowly points his nose out, peering into the gathering gloom. It’s quiet, lots of openings just like his up and down the row, with rough, red, square stones laid upon the floor. Tentatively he pushes against the door, then harder when it doesn’t move; he kicks at it and snorts in frustration. It wiggles, but it doesn’t open; and then from his left: <I> “That won’t work,”</i> and from his right: <i> “Leave the kid be, Harold.”</i> Gansey looks harder into the gloom and can make out two other heads, floating above the tops of the half-walls. <b> “Um…hello? Sirs? How do I get out of here?”</b> Gansey says in his politest voice, looking towards the one called Harold. <I> “You don’t,”</i> says the rather grumpy voice from the right. <i> “The people will let you out when they’re ready.”</i> A pause and then from Harold: <i> “It can be done. It’s that silver pointy thing almost out of reach. It opens.”</i> <i> “Gee Harold, go and give the kid false hope. That’s just great.”</i> <i> “Now Twiz, I know you can do it. You used to all the time. Show the kid how.”</i> <i> “No.”</i> <i> “C’mon he clearly has a life to life – all that ruckus a few minutes ago.”</I> <i>”No!”</i> <i> “Live a little, Twiz! He’s a free spirit!”</I> <I> “No!, Harold.”</I> Impatient, the boy kicks the door again. <b> “Excuse me! Hey!”</b> He interrupts their bickering and silence falls again. <b> “I don’t belong here. Please, help me!”</b> Another long beat of silence. <i> “The latch, kid. Use the latch. That’s all I know.”</i> Harold says gravely, and both heads disappear.
Great. Just great. So helpful. The boy reaches down and starts to touch the silver piece on the half-wall; it’s cold and he shivers, wrinkling his lip before he reaches down again, and is pleased when it wiggles. He wiggles it again and again, finding purchase to pick it up but lifting it isn’t <I>working</i>…and then he grabs it, angry, and kicks hard and the door and it finally, FINALLY swings open! The grullo yearling yelps in surprise and then gives a leap into the aisle with exhuberant joy. <b> “Bye Harold! Bye…uh…Twiz!”</b> And he takes off towards the end of the aisle where he can see the sky, hooves clattering on the strange square rocks.
The air is crisp and very welcome on his face and he extends into a gallop on hard-packed dirt, only to pull up short as something looms ahead of him, and he skids into it, wincing at what he knows will be bruises, and comes around to look at it again. Someone has taken trees and….stacked them together? Gansey pushes at these, noses at them, but they aren’t any more movable than the half-wall. But….it only comes up to his chest. He’s jumped higher, harder, playing with his siblings. Probably. And the moon out here illuminates the otherwise night-dark world, so he thinks he can see it. Taking a deep, steeling breath – the same kind he needs to jump off of cliffs in the real world – Gansey trots away from the barrier and turns slowly to face it and then he’s cantering, galloping, and he launches himself up and over; he misjudges a little and catches one hanging foreleg, snorting at the pain and favoring it for a few steps as he stumbles and then rights himself, cantering onward. When he encounters the second barrier, Gansey corrects his trajectory and grins to himself as he soars over with a clean jump; it’s almost as good as flying. The third and fourth are easy, perfect; he knows know the pace to keep and the launch-point he needs. The fifth fence behind him and he laughs out loud, thrilled to see the trees ahead.
The lemur said under the apple tree.
He’s in a gosh-darned forest.
The boy stops, heaves a sigh, closes his eyes; he takes a moment to stand quietly, letting his heart rate settle. It’s too dark under the cover of the canopy to find the apple tree by sight, but he knows from a sweet apple tree in the meadow at home the scent of the fruit – he will have to go by that. He sets off at a walk, absently sniff the air and every second or third tree. This one’s a willow – that one’s a maple. That one is another maple, and another. But there – on the air – the hint of sweet apple, and he changes course to follow it. He’s skipped a tree, ready to go to the next, when something drops out of the sky and <I>thunks</i> against his back, sending him shying sideways. He lowers his nose to inspect the object, snorting heavily, but jumps again just as he touches the apple with his nose when there is a wild cackle from overhead. Gansey steps close to the tree and looks up, barely making out the face of the lemur perched on a low branch.
<i> “You made it. I didn’t think you would. Most just give up.”</i> He swings over, hanging from one arm and one leg and reaching the other little hand out to Gansey. <i> “Well, come on then. Let’s go get your not-horseness back.”</i>
He’s ready to go home. Gansey reaches his soft nose up and touches the lemur’s hand, and then steps back, blinking because it’s daylight again, and all of the colors seem brighter. The greens are too bright, the apples too shiny; the lemur was brown and black before but now he’s red and…purple? The air smells like berries and sweet grass. <b> “What…”</b> Gansey tries to spread his wings but nothing happens. There are no wings. <i> “Yes, there, that’s better.”</i> The lemur is grinning, and Gansey is frowning. It’s not better – it’s still wrong – he goes to shake his head and the lemur leaps up and back, hissing. <I> “Watch where you swing that thing! Honestly, you unicorns, never thinking of anyone else.”</i>
<b> “Unicorn!”</b> it’s all he can do to exclaim that at first, voice cracking. Everything else he can see is still himself – still fine – but apparently he has a horn instead of wings. <b> “I’m not supposed to be a unicorn, I’m supposed to be a pegasus,”</b> He is irritated now, stomping one foot (ok, it’s childish, but he’s technically still a child). <b> “Can’t you fix it? I don’t need a stupid horn, you creature, I need my wings back so I can go home!”</b>