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“Fan-ta-stic… is that good or something?” The way the old man says it is kind of funny. But the boy is too young and naïve to catch the subtleness of that sarcasm. He copies the tone right at the end of the word, for not knowing any better.
Curiosity pulls Saoirse back to the treasure trapped in the old man’s scarf. The word he uses to describe the creature makes the child bark out in laughter. ‘Disgruntled noodle’, the child reiterates in their head. The tail between their legs wiggling with amused satisfaction. At the mention of cold however, a fleck of concern hits the boy’s eyes.
“Oh? Are yeah cold too?” Because he could feel it edging nearer, drawing into his muscles. “I don’t think I like it either…” Makes a disgruntled face. He wants mother’s warmth, most of all. To smell her and bask in that security; but out here, in this vast kaleidoscope of possibilities, it was hard to focus and latch on to something to ground him. Sooner or later it would all collide and implode.
Saoirse shares a saddened gaze with the stranger and shakes his head. “I thought… I can’t remember, if I was suppose’ to stay put or… But then I thought, maybe I better look for her.” Despite the angular and time ridden hide of the stallion ahead of him, Saoirse takes comfort that they have not shooed him away. Or ignored his presence for other things. Perhaps even helpful, when he mentions a new possibility that he hasn’t quite considered just yet. And that would lead to the assumption the stallion was kind, to want to help him.
His head bobs up, and the sadness evaporates with the idea – hope burning brightly within him. “Sort of! I just… I just have to find the ocean. We live in the Dragon’s Throat, it’s the best!” Saoirse’s wings expanded out in exclamation, just as he whipped around to face the forest behind him. Pausing, once he realized he couldn’t quite see much over the tall grasses. Shyly he looked back, and sheepishly smiled. “Oh hey, mister – do you see the forest? It’s this way, right?”
He looks at where he’d tumbled in, and prematurely starts in the direction of the trough his little body made against the snow. Whole-heartedly expecting the stranger to follow him, he glanced back to make sure.
“I live on an island! The Dragon’s Throat… Do you know why they call it that?” A knowing tone hinted that he already had an idea. But he hid it anyway, underneath the cover of a growing grin and energetic eyes.
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