He is a wildling, a creature that was created away from the politics of the world he now lives. He was born to brutal and raw brawls over territory and women - to laws that would have demanded his life if Beqanna magic had not intervened. He was a creature of other lands, other peoples, other founding beliefs. Some of them remain within him. Some of them are erased by what his mother has made him. Of one thing he can never be stripped however. His freedom. His effortless stamina. His sturdy survival skills. His dancing hooves cease as he finds he is approached by another of much the same age and certainly the same species now. He can understand her as she speaks and for a moment, the strange sensation of understanding horse-speech brings him to elongated pause. Then he tosses his head in an arch with a snort and chuckles.
“I am a child am I not? Why should I not play as one, then, girl?” He is puckish - lingering results of what bulls of his prior species started to feel as calves. He is not as he would have been truly, but he is as a mixture would have made him. He lowers his head at her and backswipes his horns with a sweeping arch. “Did you come to pluck out children’s fun like an adult or be what you were meant to be.” He is different, this boy. He is an enchanted, sweet, starry-eyed boy of mischief and chance. He has no magic of his own but his mother is the essence of the Desert Kings and Queens past. She is magic and that magic has created him… he cannot be more than she has made him to be.
He plucks his teeth in a nip behind her ear with a quick snakelike whip motion and then he is out of reach again. “Perhaps you cannot understand play because you have never tried hard enough.” With that he begins a circuit around her, using a lope that is not quite equine. Every so often he breaks his line and lets his body come close enough to brush with hers, but that is all the toying or teasing he can come up with to coax her into a game. He does not see the future that this act may produce, but in the end - no one can know where the future leads and he is so very present-tense...
THOSE DREAMS ARE TIED TO A HORSE THAT WILL NEVER TIRE |
