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It is not until the female glanced at Ink’s bodice did I realize that I had not introduced my dear friend. The blame lays on my shoulders alone, for I am used to his presence and his silence. I tune myself into him, accommodate him. I’ve never been much of a talker, and yet we have such glorious conversations without uttering a single syllable. Feeling rather foolish for having not recognized my mistake, I nearly didn’t catch the dame’s title. It is tiny, as if she is a mouse and I a hawk. Again I feel guilty, and wish I did not react in such a way every time I suspected a threat. It is instinct for me to protect those weaker than myself, and even to place myself between danger and those stronger. Years of protecting my Mage have given me reactions I cannot hold down, the urge to keep Ink from harm far stronger than my hesitance to scare a woman. Ink starts to walk then, and my gaze moves from the young woman over to him, always watching. There is so much more to speaking that actual words, and I read his face as he glances at Ree. Gaze flickers and I catch it, see the resignation and almost depression in his orbs. It saddens me, and I wonder if he ever hates being stuck in a world of cotton with nothing but his images to converse with. I’ve never felt that way, always being a rather quiet man, but he is still very young and new to the world. Yet he is so mature, and I wish he would act more his age. It is almost saddening to see him so resigned, and I wonder what he is upset over. Is it Ree? And then I mentally slap myself in the face. Of course it’s Ree! There will always be a desire to find a soulmate, no matter how young, and I wish he would have more confidence in himself. If I could, I would turn into the mouse and give my spirit to him, to make him a midnight lion that he deserves to be.
My gaze speaks of this, spelling it all out for him in a language I know he can understand. Sympathy, a desire to protect, even familial love. Pain, for he does not deserve this lifestyle. Admiration, for he is certainly an impressive youth for having to get along so well with his disability, should one consider it that. My heart aches for him, and a low sigh tumbled from my lips. I feel far too fatherly thinking such things, and wonder if I’m getting old. In my old herd I would have already been expected to have settled down and start rearing kids. You big lonely blob, stop dwelling on how awkward you are, I chide myself. Slamming of ebony hoof into hard ground makes me glance up to focus on the youth once more, and as the ink swirls around my neck I understand. Brushing a wing his way to move him from that spot, urging him slightly towards Ree. Remembering only now that the conversation I have thrust at him has taken time away from introducing him to Ree. ”This is Ink, my brother,” is all I say, for it is all I need to say. We are so different, he and I- a lion and a fox, a giant and a runner, a black rose and a golden sunflower. There is no way we are related, and yet I call him brother. For he is. The sea runs in our veins, and that is what ties us together regardless of the blood that mixes with it. They are both so young and I actually feel a bit awkward standing there between them, almost onto my sixth season. I push it away and focus instead on the dent in the earth. Folding my leg close before striking down hard, pushing up a good amount of dirt. Again and again I strike at it, muscular shoulders nearly humming with joy at the prospect of work. This is what I am made for, and everything that normally attracts my ADHD fades away into white noise. I am built for work, and that is what I do now.
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