((So I managed to find this path of internet today and got excited so I totally wrote a post))


He is tall- but not heavy, his form leggy, rangy- so different from so many of his half siblings and even his own sister. He is a child built for speed, for endurance, in possession of a form designed to run for miles upon miles- taking much more after this mother then his own infamous sire in this regard, his muscle athletic, lean, lacking the bulk and raw power of Tobias or even brothers Lonhro and Singe. He alone was designed to be swift on those tall, lithe limbs and sleek form almost feminine in its beauty and delicacy- so unlike the other children of Tobias and yet it would seem he hardly cares- about any of it. Of all the children to be blessed with such a talent for speed and undeniable endurance the boy is hardly ever given to move. Running is a chore. Moving as a whole is a task he does not care for- the child lazy and ridiculously so. His ebony form, each hair tipped in fine silver, had spent the better part of the day in repose beneath the shade of the few scattered trees that existed about the place, enjoying his serenity and peace. Nevermore was a painful, loud annoyance and it was she, his sister, he sought to escape through his actions. His Father rarely paid attention, Flare was equally as silent in her affections and his Mother hardly bothered with him unless it was necessary and by this notion the boy had become content. He liked to be left alone. He liked to be ignored. He liked to sleep his days away for he saw no reason to be as otherwise.

Nevermore was a continual thorn in his side, he holds some affection for his sister, to an extent and yet beyond their shared blood he saw little of interest in the girl. She was self-assured, confident and above all dominant. Factors he himself possessed- for how could he not? That boy born to battle cries- yet his is simply expressed in a manner quite unusual. He simply refuses to be moved, refuses to obey, refuses to follow any command his sibling has ever given. His dominance is his silence, his self-assurance is his refusal and his confidence in his continued ability to lay himself about all over the pack land in his eternal pursuit of the most exceptional sleeping place. He is a silent, peaceful protester of each and every pursuit that demands action or athletic response and yet perhaps they should all be thankful for his laziness and stubborn refusal. One day they would be. One day they would learn, all of them, that the sleeping giant was better left as such…..

For now however he is forced by the very rain itself to move his young form away from his chosen resting place, black and silver limbs extended in a slow and yet purposeful walk back towards the den. Eyes of the darkest emerald turned upward, eyeing the storm clouds above with a wary gaze, the Asteraian Prince spitting is dislike at them for there determination to ruin his evening and yet for each cold droplet of water they threw down towards him the boy moved only slower still- as if in an effort to defy the storm clouds, refusing to run or be moved at any pace other then ‘slow’- Gunsynd seemingly in possession of that single setting. His strangely banded white tail, much like a raccoon, was give to lift ever so slightly as an unfamiliar scent carries itself towards him and yet beyond this discovery he shows no interest at all. An intruder perhaps and yet what concern of it was his? Why did he care? He didn’t.

It is mere chance perhaps, that carries the strolling child towards the other, the small pond of water that had begun to form placing itself directly in his path as a bullfrog croaks it’s own delight at such a discovery and Gunsynd merely frowns. The bark of the other child sees that beautiful, pretty black head turn towards him, emerald eyes narrowing slightly on the other equally dark boy whom certainly did not live here and yet once more Gunsynd hardly found he cared- eyeing the boy critically a moment before abruptly seating himself at the edge of the rather large puddle- a small pond really- dark, dark green eyes fixated upon it as if his will power alone would dissipate it. He would not walk around it. He refuses. He desires to go straight ahead and as such, come hell or high water- he will sit here and wait until the pond itself either breaks its banks and washes him away or the rain should cease enough to allow the water to go down and his form to pass through it unhindered.

The other child, for now, is simply ignored. Gun simply does not care, he holds no malice for him, nor any true delight- the other boy could do as he pleased for all the difference it made. Let him bark at a million frogs.

Stubbornness has an entirely new name.