Gwyn had not lived long enough to understand the dark foreboding of the hours slipping by; ears lifted as her mother slipped away to check in on something, she did as she was asked, and waited outside the glowing mouth of her father’s cave. When mother had returned, there was a restlessness about her that was strange, and, to a filly, anyway, exciting.
Life was most often placid and simple; a God’s voice did not often boom across the land, and she and her dam had never once slipped out of the Basin in such a hurry. When the realization that they were to go farther than Gwyn had ever gone stuck her, as well, a new found sense of adventure began to rise in her, which she kept quiet behind her obedient pace, set always near to her dam. “Don’t lag…It’s dangerous,” lingers in the back of her mind, but most predominantly is the newness, and the quiet question of what they were making their way so studiously to, which keeps coming to the forefront of her thoughts.
Her eyes, however, were never near to her mother, even if she was, their pale blue depths always cast far out into the forest shadow, or tracing the horizon, or the sky marked by the shadow of winged things above, and, when the misty forest at least revealed itself before them, its silver wakes of mist ebbing in and out of the dark trunks, her heart wells in wonder of its beauty. An orderly row of glass spikes shine starkly in contrast to the wild prettiness of the forest, and making a point to not go near those terrible tips now or later, she looks over at her mother with a smile, that almost asks what they are doing here. A smile that explodes into a giddy grin when she hears the name called out into that magical woodland.
Her grandfather! Was he really in there somewhere? She thinks, looking with wide, hopeful eyes and an anticipatory grin.
’cause you’ve got teeth like a wolf
but you cry like a sheep
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