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09-17-2015, 04:07 AM
You simply blink as he explains that it is the fire that he had assembled, gives his name and says that it is all your choice. You feel as annoyance creeps through your veins, your patience wearing thin for unspoken reasons. Maybe it is the way that he speaks, or the words that he had said, because none of it really matters, but your eyes roll in their sockets as he begins pushing more stones towards the treeline. “I don’t think anyone really cares.” You stare for a moment, walking on the fine line between leaving him by himself to seek out your own solitude and indulging in company. At the thought of being alone there is a distinct ache in your chest, reminding you, making up your mind for you right then and there. So instead of unleashing the churning flames in the pit of your stomach, your black tongue, on an unsuspecting victim, you begin to help him clean up the little pit, following his lead, your daintiness proving far less useful at bossing rocks around than his comparative brawn. It feels like ages have passed by the time you have moved two and stop, unaware of how many trips the black-skinned man had made. It doesn’t even look any different, and the little patience that you had left is all but worn. With a huff, you idly knock your forehoof against one of the stones, ears tilting back slightly into the tangled mess of locks atop your head. “How did you make a fire anyways?” Your mind reaches back to the black and blue boy in the forest, amongst the snow and all the ill company, to the flames that erupted from him at his will. You look in the direction of the man, something like a sheltered hope igniting on your face. “Do you have magic?” |
