IP: 86.3.232.251
Posted on June 28, 2011 at 03:06:14 AM by tristan & celidon
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Tristan was, arguably, far too bright, for anyone to believe that when he said hurtful things, that he did so by mistake or due to lack of understanding. The young Prince knew all too well that his words could hurt, and also, how to choose them depending on who he was speaking to. He was not bad-natured or cold hearted, but he was rather prone to arrogance and the belief that he was superior to many children his own age. He had a gentle side too, which displayed itself mostly when he was in contact with animals. Horses and dogs were his favourites, and he had a special way with them, even his Father had noticed, and watched with interest as his son had succeeded in soothing the most bad-tempered of stallions, and trained the more disobedient puppies. Aside from his ego then, Tristan’s most obvious character flaw was his growing fondness for danger and close-calls. He loved the surge of adrenaline that near-misses gave him, and, liked to think of this as bravery. In a way it was, or at least, it had the potential to grow into such a quality as he matured into a teenager, but perhaps, at his young age, it was far closer to foolishness. None of this however, was displayed in his face as he gazed upon the Castle’s most recent (and youngest) visitor. Tristan’s face was, like his Father’s capable of great openness and affability, but it had not yet been tainted by the hardness which life experience and hard times had given Arthur’s. The boy seemed therefore, to all intents and purposes, a completely agreeable (and, thanks to his mother’s genetics, rather attractive looking) child. Upon hearing the bark of the new-comers familiar, Celidon jumped to his feet and bounded across the cobbled stable yard in order to join his master. Cel was rather unusual, even by Shaman standards, being bright green in colour, and, exceptionally large. It was obvious that he was still a puppy, his oversized ears and feet gave that much away, but he was already about the size of a Labrador, and growing ever bigger by the day. In appearance then, he looked very much like an Irish Wolfhound, with the same long legs, rectangular muzzle and scruffy fur, but of course, his was not grey, but forest green. Tristan too, showed interest in the other dog, and bent down in order to scratch the puppy behind the ear, before straightening up and doing the same to his own familiar so that Cel did not get jealous. “I live here,” Tristan said, smiling happily as he feigned casual ignorance to the effect this was likely to have upon his potential friend, “with my Father, Mother and brother.” He waited for a few moments, allowing this information to sink in, before continuing. “I was just grooming my pony,” the Prince continued, gesturing in the direction of the stables from which he had recently emerged, “would you like to come and help? I can give you a guided tour when we’re done, if you like” He spoke, very much, like his father, in a rather old-fashioned, yet, inarguably refined, English accent, one of the many clues which suggested that Grayson was not the only one with a case of hero worship when it came to Shaman’s King. The two boys crossed the yard together at a slow walk, the two dogs frolicking merrily around their feet. Tristan came to a halt, chuckling slightly as Grayson began to show off his fighting skills with his wooden sword. “Not bad,” the Prince laughed, having decided that he wanted a friend he was not about to be rude, “but, I can show you how to do some of it properly if you like. My Father has been teaching my brother and I for a while now.” “Arthur, huh?” Tristan continued, pushing open the stable door and holding it so that Grayson could enter after him. He tried to keep the amused smile off his face, as he picked up two brushes, and handed one to Grayson, before demonstrating how to use it. “Nice to meet you, Grayson,” the prince smiled, “I’m Tristan, I think you might have heard of my Father, actually,” and with that, he raised his eyebrows, causing his green eyes to widen in a meaningful hint, hoping that the other boy was quick enough to catch on. |
for we were made of stronger things, the memories of soldiers, the children of kings |
 original image by Stefan Tell at flickr.com |
Replies:
- doesn't mean i really care; - By grayson & era; July 20, 2011 at 02:01:08 AM
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