when the dreaming doesn't end

The Tapir
The Tapir blinked confusedly at the creature not-so-subtly nudging him back from the other boy; was it... a canine? What did the humans call those domesticated wolves again, doogs? The Tapir ran his forearm over his forehead, his squint becoming more pronounced as the boy replied crossly; his head cocked to the slightly.

"Is it bad? Yes, it might be... I've heard that before," he frowned very slightly as if perturbed. The memory was a shattered one, made all the more confusing by the fact that he could have sworn he'd known the meaning earlier when he'd said it. "Yes, someone said..." He mumbled confusedly, the expression in his eyes gone from arrogance to more innocent confusion. The Tapir fidgeted, uncomfortable with the sensation of dirty, sweaty cloth sticking to him, and looked towards the structure in the not-so-far-off distance as the boy continued.

"Castle?" he repeated, cocking his head to the side and squinting between the thin gossamer strands his damaged eyes cast over the world. "Is this where you live? Why is your abode so much bigger than the other two-legs? What is trespassing? Also what is... this? A doog?" He pointed to the dog between them.

"AH!" he said abruptly, louder than his early sedate speaking voice. "Two-leg manners! I am the Tapir." The boy drew himself up and gave a regal nod. "And this is Sobacho." He pulled the bottle up from where it hung at his waist, holding it out so the fish inside could gape soundlessly at the other boy; fish or not, it looked just as exasperated as Loholt was likely feeling.


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