He smiles when he sees her and he’s not entirely sure why. It isn’t a normal reaction, to smile at a stranger, especially when strangers are such bad things. But there was no denying it, Tommin would smile at the bogeyman if they had met on this cold day. But Aislyn was not a monster, she would not rip his lungs from his ribcage. No, she is a pretty girl and she wears a smile on her face. A smile that looks so much like his own: young and innocent, with the promise of their entire lives ahead. But should she be afraid of him? He has the potential to do some terrible things, and although he is young he will grow to be a male, muscular and large. He could hurt her accidentally, he could hurt anyone with out meaning to. Of course, right now, Tommin is so young, their male and female bodies almost indistinguishable from one another. There are no masculine muscles from his chest, nor feminine curves from her, just two children. He smiles because she looks like she is so happy to see him and happy to be here, and little Tommin has the most wonderful idea; he would be friends with her. He takes a step forward, his foot finding its way into the white snow covering the meadow’s ground, just as she addresses him. She is so close to him that glacial blues spot the fog of breath that tips from her lips into the wintery air. But, Tommin hardly sees anything wrong with the sheer closeness of her, they were going to be friends after all. “Hi, Aislyn!” His excitement is evident, from the way he nearly stands on tiptoes as if wanting to take flight like the hummingbird drumming beneath his equine skin, to the way his voice is bright and clear, like an icy lake in the midst of this cold winter. “I’m Tommin,” he tells her, as if being Tommin was the best thing in the world, and she should be awed by him being Tommin. The truth though, was that being Tommin was simple, wonderfully simple. What are you doing? He ponders the question for a moment. Right now, well right now he was acting as if perhaps he were a brave knight, but in general? Well, the dunskin boy did not have the faintest idea of what he was doing in that case now did he. But that isn’t what she means. He tilts that little head looking at the girl. “I was playing,” he says, simply, “What are you doing?” He asks her. Of course, she was talking to him, but perhaps she has a better answer and those ears stand attentive atop his little head with wide, satellite dish eyes tracing her face, ready to hear what she has to say. That little nose catches something though as he listens, something strange for this time of year that is swallowed by cold and ice. Little, paper thin nares twitch as it reaches him. Tommin has another question it would seem. “Why do you smell like heat and water? Do you come from the beach?”
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@[Aislyn]