05-26-2015, 03:30 AM
sorry he's lame and got lost. I promise he didn't mean to abandon mom! D:
I SHOULD BE BRAVE, WITH NOTHING TO LOSE.
THAT'S HOW I WAS UNTIL THE DAY I MET YOU.
The wild child had been lost.
It’s been months (maybe even a year, he was not at all knowledgeable in the passing of time) since he’s last seen her – the one whom he had fiercely grown to love and considered his blood. But he had not gone willingly from her side. He remembers playing with the pair of fennec foxes he often spent his days with now that there was another child for her to care for. All at once, the sky had swiftly turned dark and large, angry clouds were gathering.
The wind was ferociously whipping through his mane and his hazel eyes were started to narrow due to the flying bits of sand and dust beginning to bombard his face. His companions began to cry out to him in warning as they began to quickly dig themselves into the sand. He was bewildered and frightened for the wild child had yet to experience his first sandstorm.
And viciously did it cross the dunes, roiling through the sand and dirt, throwing it maliciously at the poor boy. He staggered beneath the onslaught and fell into the waves of sand. All he could do was tightly close his eyes and ears and pray for the best.
It swept through and dissipated just as quickly as it had formed.
He shook himself off vigorously and tried to survey the now extremely foreign-looking area. For the sandstorm had moved the dunes and covered the boulders he used as guidelines. Thunder rumbled across the sky and he could see that he had only weathered the first of the storm. He was without any knowledge of nearby shelter and had to morosely survive the heavy rain and lightning that accompanied a rarely occurrence of a desert rainstorm.
But he was now separated and lost to her.
And so he had wandered lonely and wild once again.
He had grown. His coltish figure lengthened and gained more of a solid stature that was reminiscent of his ancestral mustang blood. But he was lean and on the thin side, the hardiness of his breed and his stubborn nature had kept him going through the harsh and relatively unknown climate of the desert. For the wild child was not a child born of the desert – he was a child born of the bitter cold and wolves and infection.
But he has survived both environments.
And he has finally found his way back home to her.
munroe
tiphon x elah
It’s been months (maybe even a year, he was not at all knowledgeable in the passing of time) since he’s last seen her – the one whom he had fiercely grown to love and considered his blood. But he had not gone willingly from her side. He remembers playing with the pair of fennec foxes he often spent his days with now that there was another child for her to care for. All at once, the sky had swiftly turned dark and large, angry clouds were gathering.
The wind was ferociously whipping through his mane and his hazel eyes were started to narrow due to the flying bits of sand and dust beginning to bombard his face. His companions began to cry out to him in warning as they began to quickly dig themselves into the sand. He was bewildered and frightened for the wild child had yet to experience his first sandstorm.
And viciously did it cross the dunes, roiling through the sand and dirt, throwing it maliciously at the poor boy. He staggered beneath the onslaught and fell into the waves of sand. All he could do was tightly close his eyes and ears and pray for the best.
It swept through and dissipated just as quickly as it had formed.
He shook himself off vigorously and tried to survey the now extremely foreign-looking area. For the sandstorm had moved the dunes and covered the boulders he used as guidelines. Thunder rumbled across the sky and he could see that he had only weathered the first of the storm. He was without any knowledge of nearby shelter and had to morosely survive the heavy rain and lightning that accompanied a rarely occurrence of a desert rainstorm.
But he was now separated and lost to her.
And so he had wandered lonely and wild once again.
He had grown. His coltish figure lengthened and gained more of a solid stature that was reminiscent of his ancestral mustang blood. But he was lean and on the thin side, the hardiness of his breed and his stubborn nature had kept him going through the harsh and relatively unknown climate of the desert. For the wild child was not a child born of the desert – he was a child born of the bitter cold and wolves and infection.
But he has survived both environments.
And he has finally found his way back home to her.
tiphon x elah