12-27-2015, 10:52 PM
Perhaps it is a familial trait, stubbornness. He has certainly suffered from more than his fair share of it his entire life. Others had learned, mostly to their dismay, just how tenacious he could be when he took the proverbial bit between his teeth. It is an advantage and a failing. Regardless, it is one he has found strength in, one that has brought him where he is today.
No doubt it is a trait that would stand his son in good stead as well. Or at least one can hope.
He stands before the spotted colt, the Tundra sweeping a wide and icy swath behind him, as much a part of the barren landscape as the scrubby brush and perpetual permafrost. He had arrived in a similar manner when he had been young. What this place would come to be for him and been unknown to him at the time, but upon first setting foot into the frigid land, he had felt a sense of homecoming. Had known from that very moment that this is where he belonged.
And here he has remained. Here he would remain.
The boy is slow in his response, but Hurricane is patient. He waits until he speaks, silently weighing the name in his mind. It is a good name. But then, as far as Hurricane is concerned, names are the least of what makes a man. Certainly, given only his own name, one might have expected a very different sort of stallion. His personality reflects his home far more than it has ever reflected the volatility his given name might suggest.
Then again, perhaps given his general implacability, it is more fitting than one might first have guessed.
He considers Tobiah quietly for a moment, stirring himself to answer only when the boy repeats his own question back to him.
”Hurricane.”
His words are as simple and straightforward as he is. Never having been one to waste time, he continues, getting straight to the point.
”Do you intend to stay?”
No doubt it is a trait that would stand his son in good stead as well. Or at least one can hope.
He stands before the spotted colt, the Tundra sweeping a wide and icy swath behind him, as much a part of the barren landscape as the scrubby brush and perpetual permafrost. He had arrived in a similar manner when he had been young. What this place would come to be for him and been unknown to him at the time, but upon first setting foot into the frigid land, he had felt a sense of homecoming. Had known from that very moment that this is where he belonged.
And here he has remained. Here he would remain.
The boy is slow in his response, but Hurricane is patient. He waits until he speaks, silently weighing the name in his mind. It is a good name. But then, as far as Hurricane is concerned, names are the least of what makes a man. Certainly, given only his own name, one might have expected a very different sort of stallion. His personality reflects his home far more than it has ever reflected the volatility his given name might suggest.
Then again, perhaps given his general implacability, it is more fitting than one might first have guessed.
He considers Tobiah quietly for a moment, stirring himself to answer only when the boy repeats his own question back to him.
”Hurricane.”
His words are as simple and straightforward as he is. Never having been one to waste time, he continues, getting straight to the point.
”Do you intend to stay?”
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
