speak

*“No.”*

Reginald stays standing. He hears that tiny little catalyst of a word, and he knows its inherent meaning. He understands what flies from the moon-eyed filly’s mouth darkly, obstinate, a refusal to hear his words. He keeps his footing even as stars erupt in his eyes, the ground rocking underneath him, the world spinning in dizzying circles. Something bursts in his brain. A nerve is pulled painfully; the air is suddenly incredibly hard to breathe. It tastes like iron on his tongue. He wonders if it will suffocate him, because he can’t breathe. He can’t see. He can barely listen passed the echo of the single syllable that has dropped from her teeth.

Then, he is fine.

Reginald closes his eyes as she comes near, shoving her face into close proximity. Much too close; she could be in danger. But he does nothing. His eyes stay closed peacefully, calmly, and when he finally looks at her foolishly trotting form, the interest is settled there. He is interested.

*“I don’t listen to stupid people, so, I won’t leave… Unless you can catch me.”*

His ears perk forward; his pupils contract. He listens—it is a manifestation of his interest.

* “I won’t leave. Now, if you can’t catch me, you have to do whatever I say.”*

“Yes,” he answers, and in every facet of his tone there is amicable laughter, a child’s excitement for play. He doubts she hears him—for she has bolted off and left him in the wake of her dust, trotting here, cantering there, giving him an eyeful of the fluidity she possesses despite her size. It is one thing Reginald notices about her; she is the first filly he has witnessed who does not appear scrawny and underfed. She has bone and meat; his eyes scan her vulgarly, unashamed in his hungry gaze.

He walks after her—just walks. Running is a foolish pastime for the small son of Hellion; there is no way he could match her speed. He humors her, though. He walks behind and follows, an irritated cloud hanging over his eyes, a shadow overhanging the threads of a grand tapestry unraveling in his mind. “What are you going to do?” he calls after her; even his shouts are naught but ghostly whispers on the crisp currents of Orangemoon, “Will you run from me all day? You can’t hide; I’ll find you. You can’t stop; I’ll catch you.”


@[Jorogumo]