The fact that he'd entertained any fears about this colt now seemed laughable as Theo matched him stride for stride with warm smiles and easy laughs. It was an odd sensation, this general happiness, but it was one Iskra found himself easily falling into, the ooey gooey feeling that it generated inside his chest melting off whatever cold and dark cobwebs had begun to nestle beneath Ampere's vacant watch. For the first time in ever, Iskra felt like maybe he had a friend, and that was a damn good feeling.

It may have been a bit soon to go slapping around labels like that; a brand that suggests loyalty and longevity. Perhaps its his youth, or just his general eagerness to maintain these warm fuzzies, but he isn't shy of thinking along those lines. Yeah, a friend seemed great, and if it was important then he'd hold onto it, because why would he ever let something as good as this go?

These thoughts were brief and mostly un-thought in the sense that Iskra was not articulating any of this on the surface level. His upfront internal dialogue was simply, wow that's cool! Deeper, in the parts of him that his dreams touched and his reactions to the world birthed from, he regarded Theo more expansively. Yet even those depths quieted, or rather were disturbed, as Iskra's entire focus was absorbed instead by the echo rebounding inside of him, the space where only his voice normally was (and maybe a touch of his mom's whenever he remembered something particularly strong).

So he jumped, because well, it was startling again, but not in the appearedoutofnowhere kind of way, more like the didyoujustinvademymostinnerspace kind of way. Except, Iskra didn't mind, he just didn't know there'd be someone in his mind. The emergence of Theo's touch, a gentle brush, like the warmth of the autumn sun on your back in midday, left a poignant absence in its wake. It was oddly lonely.

"Whoa!" Iskra exclaimed amid his internal reeling, and all at once every feather on his body fluffed up onto its end, including the crest feathers behind his ears and the set along his rump. Like a ghost passing over you and causing chicken skin, so it was that Iskra shivered in the departure of Theo's mindful touch.

Then.

"WHOA!" because there was a bird, and it was on fire, or more accurately Iskra realized, was made of fire. Entranced, Iskra watched it as it rose, shuffling underneath it, his baby wings flexing as though desiring to join its ascension - he wanted to know more about it, to watch it, maybe touch it (did it hurt?), but it was gone, and he was grounded.

At the boy's voice Iskra's oceanic gaze drifted back down, regarding the other colt with an unmasked awe. A smile so big it stretched up into his eyes lit up Iskra's face as he enthusiastically exclaimed, "THAT'S AWESOME!" He had drifted closer to the sunlit foal as he'd tracked the bird, and he know reached out with a casual comfort to bump his nose in good nature against Theo's shoulder, much like the way he and his mom would bump each other for comfort, affection found within that physical reassurance when words wouldn't. "Yur really strong arentchu!? I don't think I can do any of that, but maybe someday- my wings have sparks but that's about it." His wings stretched out from either side of him, and he glanced at them, as if to reassure himself that the embers and electricity were still present, drifting like little erratic dust motes, undulating from beneath his feathers and then rolling off and dissipating in glowing trails.

"Don't worry,"he reassured Theo as he slung his gaze back to him. "They don't hurt like my mom's, but they don't go away either." As he mentioned his mom it seemed to trigger a reminder and abruptly his head twisted, his teal stare pouring over the dune with a certain unrest until he finally spotted her shape still napping in the distance. He visibly relaxed after a moment of tension, his wings reshuffled against his sides. "She's over there, my mom. She can make lightning animals! I don't know what my dad did though...he's dead."

All to easily Iskra slumped back into that depressive wake that Ampere carried him in. He had never met the man, but if his mother's attitude was anything to guide him, the loss of his father was something terrible, and his body hung limp in trained response.