i have loved the stars too fondly
Mom and Dad were fast asleep, but Aedan wasn’t. He lived during both day and night, grabbing naps in quiet moments between adventures. Aedan slipped away from his parents quietly, having become an expert in sneaking. Not that his parents didn’t let him go out, but it was vastly more fun to go out without their permission. Though as he gets older, they care less and less what he does. Still, the game amuses him, despite the fact he knows his mother will wake and probably just sigh at his absence. He’s been sneaking away since he was old enough to walk, by now, she is used to it.
Once he’s far enough away, he pulls at the stars and their light surrounds him. It calls attention to himself, he knows, but in the darkness a glowing ball of light is usually something to steer clear of. Besides, he can see far better with the aura around him and, should something attack, it’s a rather solid barrier for defense.
The boy makes his way through the night with no purpose in mind. His feet simply wander, and eventually he realizes he’s made his way to the meadow. A safe enough place at night, though strange in its emptiness. There are muted, hushed conversations, shadows in the shape of horses tucked away in the distance. Not everyone slept easily, and he was used to running across a few other equines at night, but the difference from day to night is always stark.
Aedan let’s the glow around him fade some, keeping a bit of its presence for light but taking away the bulk of it. He’d rather see the stars, would rather be led by the moon than his own power. Of course, he chooses to half blind himself at the wrong time and nearly slams into a stallion.
Aedan comes skidding to a halt in a tangle of overly long legs, barely managing to keep himself upright. It is not the graceful approach of the stealthy thief he likes to think of himself as. Then again, maybe his parents always know when he sneaks away and just let him get away with it. “Sorry,” he mutters, calling the stars back to him to lighten the area around them.
The stallion is a deep blue, swirled in gold patterns that Aedan has never seen before. They look, in some ways, strangely alike. Both have white manes, though the other’s is long where Aedan’s has decided to stop in a mohawk that he does he best to own. The other is not quite the night sky, and yet, he belongs to the night all the same. Well then. There might be worse horses to almost trample. “Aedan,” he offers, figuring he owes the other a name at least.
Once he’s far enough away, he pulls at the stars and their light surrounds him. It calls attention to himself, he knows, but in the darkness a glowing ball of light is usually something to steer clear of. Besides, he can see far better with the aura around him and, should something attack, it’s a rather solid barrier for defense.
The boy makes his way through the night with no purpose in mind. His feet simply wander, and eventually he realizes he’s made his way to the meadow. A safe enough place at night, though strange in its emptiness. There are muted, hushed conversations, shadows in the shape of horses tucked away in the distance. Not everyone slept easily, and he was used to running across a few other equines at night, but the difference from day to night is always stark.
Aedan let’s the glow around him fade some, keeping a bit of its presence for light but taking away the bulk of it. He’d rather see the stars, would rather be led by the moon than his own power. Of course, he chooses to half blind himself at the wrong time and nearly slams into a stallion.
Aedan comes skidding to a halt in a tangle of overly long legs, barely managing to keep himself upright. It is not the graceful approach of the stealthy thief he likes to think of himself as. Then again, maybe his parents always know when he sneaks away and just let him get away with it. “Sorry,” he mutters, calling the stars back to him to lighten the area around them.
The stallion is a deep blue, swirled in gold patterns that Aedan has never seen before. They look, in some ways, strangely alike. Both have white manes, though the other’s is long where Aedan’s has decided to stop in a mohawk that he does he best to own. The other is not quite the night sky, and yet, he belongs to the night all the same. Well then. There might be worse horses to almost trample. “Aedan,” he offers, figuring he owes the other a name at least.
to be fearful of the night
aedan
@[Tyr]
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission