10-27-2020, 07:00 PM
Quell begins to nod when she repeats his words, his sidestepping paused with a single hoof in the air. Nod until she teases, at least, and then he plants his feet more firmly in the ground. He is serious! Why he must always be the thoughtful one eludes Quell, but this girl, like his friends, underestimates risk. Quell, with his inherent caution, is more like his father than he realizes, but he sighs in quickly built exasperation at her too-accurate example.
“Yes! The ‘eating you alive’ kind of way! You wouldn’t even know it, and then you’d be dead!” Impressing upon her the danger seems important, but he is not sure how she will react to mentions of gore.
“Maybe I would! Maybe you’d deserve it for not looking out good enough!” He decides to add for emphasis, realizing as soon as the words leave his mouth that perhaps he has gone too far. Quell looks down quickly, following the line of dark sand out to the sea. He says, very softly and seemingly to the distant waves. “I wouldn’t though, not really. Even if you deserve it.” It’s as close an apology as he is comfortable giving for his outburst. The young colt is not accustomed to conflict (at least not the kind that isn’t a kick or a shove or solvable by one or the other), and it stirs uncomfortably in his belly.
Leave, he thinks, leave or adapt.
Choosing the latter, he looks back at the smaller filly. “I’m Quell. What’s your name?” He takes a moment to look more closely at the newcomer to Ischia. The splashes of white on her sides looks a little like the waves, and the iridescent look of it seems more than a trick of the ocean water that still dampens it. The brightness of her rosey sides is a contrast to the blacks and white and gold that Quell and most of his family and friends sport. She is without wings or scales, and no flowers grow in her mane nor are there flames around her fetlocks.
She is quite different from anyone that Quell knows, the boy thinks. He's not yet sure how he feels about that.
“Yes! The ‘eating you alive’ kind of way! You wouldn’t even know it, and then you’d be dead!” Impressing upon her the danger seems important, but he is not sure how she will react to mentions of gore.
“Maybe I would! Maybe you’d deserve it for not looking out good enough!” He decides to add for emphasis, realizing as soon as the words leave his mouth that perhaps he has gone too far. Quell looks down quickly, following the line of dark sand out to the sea. He says, very softly and seemingly to the distant waves. “I wouldn’t though, not really. Even if you deserve it.” It’s as close an apology as he is comfortable giving for his outburst. The young colt is not accustomed to conflict (at least not the kind that isn’t a kick or a shove or solvable by one or the other), and it stirs uncomfortably in his belly.
Leave, he thinks, leave or adapt.
Choosing the latter, he looks back at the smaller filly. “I’m Quell. What’s your name?” He takes a moment to look more closely at the newcomer to Ischia. The splashes of white on her sides looks a little like the waves, and the iridescent look of it seems more than a trick of the ocean water that still dampens it. The brightness of her rosey sides is a contrast to the blacks and white and gold that Quell and most of his family and friends sport. She is without wings or scales, and no flowers grow in her mane nor are there flames around her fetlocks.
She is quite different from anyone that Quell knows, the boy thinks. He's not yet sure how he feels about that.