They were each different in obvious ways. Ophelia, rather skilled in the art of recruiting and having mastered warmth and formality to a T was clearly a shoe in for finding kingdom members. Ghost, though upfront and blunt had her own unique ability to spark interest in strangers and appear both friendly and inviting. She was a bright pop of orange in a faint shade of pink and grey; Ophelia being the warm baby pink tone that provided security and comfort while he, Boltar, a cold shade of winter. His own unique ability to appear distant and short was both blessing and a curse; he had the ability to shun out worthless conversations but struggled to let the real socializing start. He was an awkward baby deer hardly able to find a voice, let alone an outgoing persona. His practice of solitude and his experience being the lone wolf had in some ways made him stronger, but in situations like this tampered his ability to ever find long lasting relationships. Ophelia must have many wise friends, Ghost a line up of adequate males and aspiring females, and Boltar—a lone soldier with a very difficult decision to make.
A branch rustled and Boltar raised his blue eyes up expecting to see a noisy bird or territorial squirrel. On the branch swung a silver scaled reptile with the most oddest expression on his face; Boltar had yet to learn what goofiness and charm was. He cocked his head inquisitively, though not appearing thrilled at all by the sudden show. It has a name, but Boltar doesn’t have the courage (or interest) to respond; he instead nods—such an odd place to think lizards as companions—let alone carnivorous dogs.
Had our anti-social brute known he had offended the charcoal goddess he would have fumbled in embarrassment and apologies. He had lots to learn about the mind of a female, his mother had been the simple homely type and would hardly have considered Boltar’s reaction to light flirting offensive. To a man blind by inexperience, Ghost had appeared intimidating. To a man who might be more capable in the event of flirting, Ghost would have been the ideal candidate. If she had wandered across anyone less socially-inept—friendly—maybe she would have gotten a different reaction. And to think Boltar had triggered such an emotion, well let’s be thankful he isn’t aware.
Sometimes inexperience is a good thing.
Though something does tug at the spiraling mind of our wolf. Why would they pick him of all horses adequate in the threshold? What makes him so special; his vibrant neon blue eyes, his darkened image, or his stronger appearance? Is there something he has yet to learn about himself that they see potential of, or was he just an easy lure into their castes. He flicks his tail at the thought of being just an easy catch, a naïve fish on the hook—he could leave, he wasn’t tied to loyalty by invisible chains quite yet. He doesn’t, though, he still ponders the possibilities. What if being the easy catch was good?
“Well it seems as though my choice, either or, offers the same sort of pleasure; a purpose. And while the Aurora Basin should be my choice, I have always loved the company of a waterfall,” it is like a click of confidence, a masculine smooth tone eases out of his mouth like butter off of a knife. What he says seems so unlikely pleasant he himself can hardly believe he spoke it; but it felt right to say it. To finally declare something he could to choose; it was enlightening. And though he struggled to glance either mare in the eye, feeling slightly guilty that he couldn't have picked both (the softy of our boy truly shining at this time), he embraces this new emotion of doing something for himself. Today, life hadn't picked what would happen, he got to pick. "I will follow you," he mutters with a heavy rasp of rustiness through his tone and watches for Ghost to lead the way.
@[Ophelia]
@[Ghost]
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