Gale
02-02-2020, 07:05 PM
There’s a shady patch in the shallower part of the bog, a place that he hadn’t paid much attention to during his hunt for breakfast. He does not, because a noise has just come from there. Blue did not hear it quite in time to identify the origin, but he doesn’t need to. By the time he’s turned about toward it, a visible Eyas is wading toward him.
She looks like the last projection: the adult and not the child.
‘I’m right here,’ she says when she stops her slog through the murky water. Blue does not stop, sloshing forward so that he might presses his muzzle against Eyas. ‘Proof’ he thinks, the usual end to their games of See-and-Seek.
So close, the details that had been blurred or imperfect in the vision are impossible to miss. The scars were real, deep and clear and surely painful, so Blue focuses instead on those glittering black eyes. He’d called her beetle-eyes once, he recalls suddenly. Had she laughed? He cannot remember the reaction – only that it had happened. Even the shortest memory is treasured, and Gale’s tremulous expression grows more substantial, a hopefulness as golden base of his brindled coat.
“Who am I?” he asks, his voice hardly a whisper. It doesn’t need to be, so close do they stand. He says this just as she asks her own question: how long has he been here?
“Almost two years.” The boy answers immediately. “Ever since I woke up in the Field. Do you…Do you know me? I remember only some things. More all the time though.” Surely she can give him the answers, his expression says. Surely the memories he has been having are real.
@[Eyas]
She looks like the last projection: the adult and not the child.
‘I’m right here,’ she says when she stops her slog through the murky water. Blue does not stop, sloshing forward so that he might presses his muzzle against Eyas. ‘Proof’ he thinks, the usual end to their games of See-and-Seek.
So close, the details that had been blurred or imperfect in the vision are impossible to miss. The scars were real, deep and clear and surely painful, so Blue focuses instead on those glittering black eyes. He’d called her beetle-eyes once, he recalls suddenly. Had she laughed? He cannot remember the reaction – only that it had happened. Even the shortest memory is treasured, and Gale’s tremulous expression grows more substantial, a hopefulness as golden base of his brindled coat.
“Who am I?” he asks, his voice hardly a whisper. It doesn’t need to be, so close do they stand. He says this just as she asks her own question: how long has he been here?
“Almost two years.” The boy answers immediately. “Ever since I woke up in the Field. Do you…Do you know me? I remember only some things. More all the time though.” Surely she can give him the answers, his expression says. Surely the memories he has been having are real.
@[Eyas]