You decided that watching this fool of a boy was exciting.
You stand a ways apart, the wind tackling you, harassing you, the sky a huge black billowing thing that you have trained yourself not to fear. It is glorious though, isn’t it? You have never experienced a thunderstorm before in your life, and the clouds are a new thing to learn, dark, velvety things pillowing the horizon, blocking the both sunlight and moonlight, stars and starlight. It dominates everything. You feel a strange thrill from it.
You watch as the child (who isn’t that much younger than you are, let’s be honest little Enyo) flutters things that will be wings one day. You imagine him flying the way he pretends like he is, a little windfall of a colt soaring through the skies, soft down floating on the wind. You do not have the desire to laugh as the wind rips and tears at him, sending him careening backwards, helpless against the onslaught. It is a ferocious monster and those are treated with respect. You can fare no better against the bitter gales. You are just interested that his enthusiasm does not seem to be spoiled by the raging beast of the sky. He still pretends to fly.
You wouldn’t have approached like you did, but he’s teeeaaaasing you and you hate it. He dances near the cliff edge, a tantalizing dance, a dance and nothing more when every nerve of your body begs for him to finally take the plunge. You’re not sure if it’ll actually kill him, but the thrill would certainly be exciting enough for you to bear. Oh, jump! Please, please jump!
You cannot take it anymore. He skirts the edge of the cliff, flirting, and he’s teased you beyond all sense of decorum. You march forward, coming to approach—your steps halting and careful, because the wind is still howling and yanking your over-long, shaggy mane and tail, and you would be indignant, normally, over your disheveled appearance. But you fail to care right now as you troop over to the boy that skirts the edges of death. “Are you gonna jump?” You ask, and you have to lift your trilling voice ever so slightly so he might hear you over the gales.
talk talk talk
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