Meadow

Days had turned to weeks, and before he knew it the season had changed. The season where the heat beat down upon his back had come and gone, leading way for the leaves to begin to fall and turn colors. The bite in the air was crisp. He could feel the chill in his bones. He’d shot up again, the meat he had gained on his bones making way for said bones to lengthen and strengthen. He shook his head as he walked through the meadows of the long brittle grasses. The tops of them were brittle at least. The bottoms were still lush and green. He dropped his head to grasp a mawful as he walked along. Pale brown eyes stare out as he moves easily. He guessed he was nearing a year soon. Maybe the beginning of spring he’d age. But in all honesty he knew not about anything.

He’d spoken with the large male when he’d swam ashore, his mother dying in the water on the way to the islands. But Lucà had run away after a while of speaking. He knew now his errors, but the thought of trying to apologize wasn’t something he knew how to do. He knew not where the male was, and he wasn’t about to swim to another island at any rate now. He didn’t know where to turn too. He spent his nights in the trees that lined the areas between the meadows and the falls. He had been able to distinguish the areas in his explorations. His rump was getting whiter, which he was puzzled by. Why did the blanket and spots seem to grow as he did? Part of him wondered why the colored spot didn’t just stay the same size.

He shakes his head, looking back at the land around him. He snorts a few sprigs of grass dangling from his lips as he chews, watching the wind rustle the brittle tops of the grasses. He reached out with his gangly legs, pawing the ground as he sighs. He was frustrated, that was for sure. He was bored out of his mind with no idea where he was meant to go in life. What was he supposed to do now that he had no one here?

He stayed away from the waters edge of the falls as much as possible, the memories were far to hard to deal with and hurtful to be honest. Grief had not gotten easier to manage. His dreams were plagued so hard that they were nightmares and he was so, so endlessly tired of the horrors that awaited him in the nights.