07-05-2019, 02:34 AM
He had been brought up in a land of smiles and magic. That is all he remembers, watching them, and how they used to stand side by side, his reasonably silent father and his completely silent mother. They had been a simple family, perhaps in more ways then one, and Tommin’s life had been a wonderful combination go imagination and reality. He was a child who wanted knowledge and the fates had gone out of their way to deny him it. He could not ask his mother questions because she could not answer him, and his father’s limited vocabulary and lack of hearing made their conversations short and simple. His father could say his mother’s name, he could say Tommin, and he could say other words like danger, run, hide, and love. But he could not explain to the pale sandy colt why the sky turning from a light summer blue to a dark and resentful night. He could not tell him why the stars twinkled or why their friend the moon was not always there to join them. And nor could he tell the little colt why a rainbow perhaps one of the most beautiful things the little boy had ever seen. He could not explain to Tommin why he and his mother left him. He could not say anything other than goodbye, and with a smile and a touch to the young boy’s pale shoulder they left him. Tommin had stood there mute, in the open in this strange land, for a while, lips pressed firmly together until realization kicked in. His mother and his father had moved on, on from him, and perhaps their time spent together. They had left Tommin to his own fate, although this was no cruel act of abandonment. It was a chance, an opportunity, and when Tommin realizes this, he cannot help but smile, bright and beautiful, lighting up his eyes of glacial blue. Perhaps he would one day touch the stars. The glistened silently above his head, every night, the only source of light when the world was plunged into darkness. Tommin knows they will return again tonight. He wonders about this new land, will there still be butterflies to chase? Will there be deer to find, silent in the trees? Will there be flowers to smell? For now, his new world is silent, at it is bathed in new winter snow. It was no time for someone to be out on their own. But in the comforting hands of the meadow, Tommin stood, resting his sore hooves, he was so very tired from all of his walking. There were others here, Tommin could see them, wandering about in the sunshine of winter. Although he had thought it wise to venture a little further from the large groups. They could be dangerous, and in the poorer months of winter, one could never tell. He breathes out a sigh, lowering his head to the ground and letting his muzzle touch against the cold ground, tiny cupped flutes atop his head, twitching for any sign of a sound.
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