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Chamomile.
The scent’s not bad, he thinks. It’s soft and a humble sweet that tickles his nose. But with a grimace he spits out the bitter taste from his mouth. “Eck…” It doesn’t do well when chewed. He hopes he won’t get sick, but the boy doesn’t want to wait for the assured, and seasoned words of a healer. Most times he’s alone, and he can’t simply wait on their beck and call.
He’s rather rested underneath the shade of a short and gnarled tree. Surrounded by a patch of jade grass speckled about, with the tall greens of white and yellow centered chamomile flowers. Not far from where the oasis resides, where the gigantic palms sprawl out from forgiving waters, and where various forms of foliage bloom.
The sound of spirited laughter finally grabs his attention. Draws his gaze away from the fattened yellows of the flowers, and the 12 white petals he’d counted a moment ago. With ears pricked and mind jettisoned towards the oasis, his body, coated by the scent of chamomile darts up with a vigorous shake.
Who could that be?
The boy has forgotten the sound of pure delight, untainted by regrets and of wanting when one has nothing. And it hits his soul in a tumultuous smack. That he has no other option, but to gravitate towards the noise – followed by a slightly heavier laugh.
The boy sprints ahead, unveiling his wings and flapping rigorously as his heart begins to soar with his body. As if his soul, remembering what that sound had ‘felt’ like, was at once compelled to dip and dive into that once blissful time.
Not far off from the ground, he spots a gangly sort of girl – her wings fluffed and virgin, stomping and squealing within the water’s depths. She, fairly unknown to the boy, also appears much smaller and juvenile than himself.
Saoirse stumbles across from them on the opposite shore. Sliding to a halt, kicking up sand. With a sneeze he watches from his vantage point. Feeling the pull that grapples with his soul, and says, let’s join them! But instead the boy watches them for a moment. The girl’s companion is a stranger too. And it’s hard for the boy discern the stranger’s foalish ways from his slightly, more developed body. For which the boy hardly takes notice of.
The thought to join them still burns at the edges of his mind. And for the first time in forever, the boy finds himself reluctant.
It’s just water, he realizes. And begrudgingly dips a hoof or two from where he stands.
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