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12-27-2012, 02:36 PM
Water is my eye, my most faithful mirror, fearless on my breath…
A moment of silence between the duo passes, but the awkwardness normally accompanying such a thing isn’t present. She feels his eyes on her and she looks back at him, matching his gaze. “There are plenty of squirrels and bluebirds where I reside,” he tells her, smiling. Owl laughs—silver bells tinkling on a perfect winter night—she’s quite pleased with his answer. She tries to imagine what kind of place could hold such a stallion as this. Where would he live? By the sea, fresh salt and sand permanent fixtures on his pelt? Or perhaps in the forest, leaves stuck in his mane and tail, proof of the tree’s acceptance and amiability towards him, their gentle tolerance being felt in the way the branches bent back from him, greeting him and welcoming him home from his travels. Or maybe both were off—perhaps his home was with the rolling hills of the prairie, tall grasses tickling his barrel as he walked, quails and grouses good-naturedly giving chase when he approached too close to their precious clutches of eggs. Owl’s ears twitched as her lips did in humor at the thought of the large stallion in front of her being chased off by an indignant bird mother. He speaks again, this time in reference to her not-so-subtle inquisitive look at the dragon circling above them. “That is Dei, my dragon.” His statement is punctuated by the lovely creature dipping lower, weaving beneath the leaves and branches like water. “I am Jackal, the King of Theives. I live in a pleasant green valley not far north of this forest. Mountains shelter it from snow and sun, and the wildflowers are in bloom.” So she hadn’t been correct at all—he lived a peaceful life in a lush valley. Owl could hear the implied capitals in the sentence as well; that was his title, he was somebody important, someone that had done brave things and gotten his reward. Owl had no title of her own and idly wondered what it would be if she ever did brave things to earn it. Owl the Indie? Owl the Innocent? Owl the if-it-was-possible-to-smoke-pot-she-would? She laughed inwardly. Just the name Owl was enough to satisfy her for now.
“I’m Owl. Your home sounds lovely, your words tempt me to visit.”
Her large eyes practically glowed with the promise of new places to explore, her little ears stood at rapt attention, her slender body relaxed but poised to go. His cautionary words put only a slight damper on her mood—“It is best we do not stay long here.” Owl couldn’t see how the friendly, bright forest could be threatening at all, but trusted his advice seeing as he’d lived here for at least a while, longer than her. He begins to walk away, and Owl follows him after a few paces, walking through the Threshold and onwards to what Owl would now call home. The word rung strange in her head—she’d never had a permanent home, not in her adult life.
A moment of silence between the duo passes, but the awkwardness normally accompanying such a thing isn’t present. She feels his eyes on her and she looks back at him, matching his gaze. “There are plenty of squirrels and bluebirds where I reside,” he tells her, smiling. Owl laughs—silver bells tinkling on a perfect winter night—she’s quite pleased with his answer. She tries to imagine what kind of place could hold such a stallion as this. Where would he live? By the sea, fresh salt and sand permanent fixtures on his pelt? Or perhaps in the forest, leaves stuck in his mane and tail, proof of the tree’s acceptance and amiability towards him, their gentle tolerance being felt in the way the branches bent back from him, greeting him and welcoming him home from his travels. Or maybe both were off—perhaps his home was with the rolling hills of the prairie, tall grasses tickling his barrel as he walked, quails and grouses good-naturedly giving chase when he approached too close to their precious clutches of eggs. Owl’s ears twitched as her lips did in humor at the thought of the large stallion in front of her being chased off by an indignant bird mother. He speaks again, this time in reference to her not-so-subtle inquisitive look at the dragon circling above them. “That is Dei, my dragon.” His statement is punctuated by the lovely creature dipping lower, weaving beneath the leaves and branches like water. “I am Jackal, the King of Theives. I live in a pleasant green valley not far north of this forest. Mountains shelter it from snow and sun, and the wildflowers are in bloom.” So she hadn’t been correct at all—he lived a peaceful life in a lush valley. Owl could hear the implied capitals in the sentence as well; that was his title, he was somebody important, someone that had done brave things and gotten his reward. Owl had no title of her own and idly wondered what it would be if she ever did brave things to earn it. Owl the Indie? Owl the Innocent? Owl the if-it-was-possible-to-smoke-pot-she-would? She laughed inwardly. Just the name Owl was enough to satisfy her for now.
“I’m Owl. Your home sounds lovely, your words tempt me to visit.”
Her large eyes practically glowed with the promise of new places to explore, her little ears stood at rapt attention, her slender body relaxed but poised to go. His cautionary words put only a slight damper on her mood—“It is best we do not stay long here.” Owl couldn’t see how the friendly, bright forest could be threatening at all, but trusted his advice seeing as he’d lived here for at least a while, longer than her. He begins to walk away, and Owl follows him after a few paces, walking through the Threshold and onwards to what Owl would now call home. The word rung strange in her head—she’d never had a permanent home, not in her adult life.
