Despite his lackluster existence, the spark of youth has not been extinguished for Clegane. His curiosity flairs as the telltale sounds of a traveler reach him, and the colt shakes the frost from his mane and stands a little taller.
But when this traveler speaks, the raw emotion carried in his voice causes the colt to step back. If the tone and intensity had not been enough to startle Clegane, the sound of his dead mother's name echoing across the Riverlands would have. It is enough to send a shock through his young body. The expression on his scarred face is no longer simple, curious and pleasant. No longer neutral. He had not learned the diplomat's art of curating his smile - he had never had anything to hide from his grandam.
In the time the short amount of it took him to realize he was holding his breath, the stranger had crossed the river and was close enough to touch. Clegane's flight instinct had faltered, and other than his initial step backward he hasn't moved since first catching sight of the man who seems to know him.
Where... Where is your mother?
Clegane shakes his head, his eyes locking onto those of his interrogator. One was blue, he notes, the color of his guardian's and the other is silver, the color of his own. But he had never had cause to wonder at the color of his own eyes, and the similarity of their features are lost on him.
Who are you, child?
Somehow, despite the dryness of his mouth, he begins to shape his racing thoughts into words. "She..." he says, breaking a rule for the first time (do not talk to strangers), breaking it because he feels he owes it to this stranger.
He had known his mother's name.
But before he can force his tongue to obey, there is another voice. Far greater and powerful than his own, it draws the colt's attention with ease. The masculine rumble overshadows whatever mummer may have escaped the mottled yearling, and he suddenly feels much smaller.
A quietness settles over the three of them, filled by the tumbling river and breath coming a little too quickly.
"She's gone," he finally manages. But his words seem too loud in the foggy woodland, where even footfalls were muted by the damp. He is embarrassed by the way his voice cracks, especially when his own feelings do not match the emotions of this companion of his mother's. The first few months of his life were a fog, and the facts around his mother's death were locked away in the darkest parts of his mind. He rarely thought of her, and when he did the terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach caused his mind to pivot to other topics. This feeling returns now, and the jagged line of his lips press together in discomfort as he drops his eyes to examine the muck around his toes.
Clegane
been in the dark for weeks and I've realized you're all I need
and I hope that I'm not too late, I hope I'm not too late
@[Raul] @[Castile] I love you guys for putting up with me and my sporadic posting