04-21-2018, 11:21 PM
He, of course, has no notion that it’s not normal to have hatched from an egg. For one so young, his reality seems to be the only reality, and his reality is the egg, and the voices. But he likes her as well – the dark mare who is his so-careful escort down the mountainside, and he basks in her motherly touches. It’s new, the touching, and he finds he likes it, pressing himself to her side whenever he comes back to her. She asks about their visits, and the creamy-colored boy finds himself tilting his head and considering the question, and finally responding with perhaps more eloquence than one might expect of a newborn, but he’s had months to absorb language skills from his parent’s daily visits.
“Well, papa has a big voice, even when he’s whispering. All rumbly-like.” The memory of his father’s voice is deep and soothing, in even tones and slowish words. “Mommy talked a lot,” he flicks a bright smile back at the mare, winding his way around her kind of like an overgrown cat. “She sounded more like the birds. All ups and downs and no rumblies. I heard her a lot, papa only really talked at the end right before they left.” The colt has, of course, absolutely no idea how unhelpful describing the sounds of their voices is to an adult who’s probably never met his parents, and he eagerly sets off in the direction she points him.
“Are you a mommy? Did you have to find your babies when they came out of their eggs?” he looks back at her after inspecting a particularly large rock, and then frowning a bit and circling it again. “This kind of smells familiar. I guess.” Perhaps mommy and papa had leaned on this rock one day after coming down from the mountain? A flicker of bright color catches his eye and he rears unsteadily to reach for a long blue-and-gold feather stuck into a crevice in the rock at just the right height where a grown pegasus might have been scratching. Retrieving it, he brings it back to her because it’s just so pretty.
“Well, papa has a big voice, even when he’s whispering. All rumbly-like.” The memory of his father’s voice is deep and soothing, in even tones and slowish words. “Mommy talked a lot,” he flicks a bright smile back at the mare, winding his way around her kind of like an overgrown cat. “She sounded more like the birds. All ups and downs and no rumblies. I heard her a lot, papa only really talked at the end right before they left.” The colt has, of course, absolutely no idea how unhelpful describing the sounds of their voices is to an adult who’s probably never met his parents, and he eagerly sets off in the direction she points him.
“Are you a mommy? Did you have to find your babies when they came out of their eggs?” he looks back at her after inspecting a particularly large rock, and then frowning a bit and circling it again. “This kind of smells familiar. I guess.” Perhaps mommy and papa had leaned on this rock one day after coming down from the mountain? A flicker of bright color catches his eye and he rears unsteadily to reach for a long blue-and-gold feather stuck into a crevice in the rock at just the right height where a grown pegasus might have been scratching. Retrieving it, he brings it back to her because it’s just so pretty.
Grye
Olivier x Dagny
no worries the words are more important <3