01-11-2020, 12:20 AM
In the absence of his siblings, Larrikin is prone to wandering. There is plenty of fun to be had in Sylva when he has company, but the overo boy has long since explored all the good nooks and crannies of the fire forest. Today, with none of his brother and sisters making an appearance and Roue still too small to do anything really exciting, Larrikin finds himself in the Meadow. He’s been here once or twice, and he manages to look almost like he knows what he is doing as he picks his way across the sea of waving grass. The dry strands tickle at the ragged patches of white along his otherwise black belly, those paint markings inherited from his father overwhelmed by the deep inky black of his mother. Starsin is paler now, and Larrikin will be lighter someday too, but for now the only sign of that graying to come is a subtle brightening around his face and a lavender tip to his otherwise black tail. Otherwise he is just black and white, tinted only slightly lilac by the glow of his halo.
No one here is doing anything exciting either, he decides. There’s just grazing and talking mostly, though the boy casts a few disgusted looks at the horses having a little too explicit thoughts of their conversation partner. He gets enough of that from his parents; he doesn’t want to think about it here, not when he is still fairly certain that girls are still infectious.
The sight he stumbles on feels serendipitously like proof of that.
The scrambling girl has clearly done this – whatever this is. Larrikin has not ever seen anything like it before. He steps forward curiously to poke at a withered flower with his black nose. It smells like the ground after rain but sharper, and it makes his stomach curl unpleasantly, so he pulls away after a rather brief inspection of the dead grass. Now he looks at the grey and black filly, who is not so far in age from Larrikin himself.
“How’d you do that?” The overo asks curiously, blinking his long-lashed eyes. “Was it magic?”
@[Anamoly]
No one here is doing anything exciting either, he decides. There’s just grazing and talking mostly, though the boy casts a few disgusted looks at the horses having a little too explicit thoughts of their conversation partner. He gets enough of that from his parents; he doesn’t want to think about it here, not when he is still fairly certain that girls are still infectious.
The sight he stumbles on feels serendipitously like proof of that.
The scrambling girl has clearly done this – whatever this is. Larrikin has not ever seen anything like it before. He steps forward curiously to poke at a withered flower with his black nose. It smells like the ground after rain but sharper, and it makes his stomach curl unpleasantly, so he pulls away after a rather brief inspection of the dead grass. Now he looks at the grey and black filly, who is not so far in age from Larrikin himself.
“How’d you do that?” The overo asks curiously, blinking his long-lashed eyes. “Was it magic?”
@[Anamoly]