The shadows let patched sunlight linger through the glade. I walked between it, not realizing that my pelt stood out like a sore thumb; not knowing that someone who knew me at a distance was coming to talk to my mother. As mentioned before, my state was one of pure bliss. Thankfully nothing of the concerns in our adult world mattered to the minds of children. My heart skipped and bounded, energy knew little of limits. The fluttering song of wings caught my sensitive attention long before a stranger came into view, a flash of white and that was all I had seen—but it was enough to capture curiosity.

My intrigue of this worlds creatures couldn’t be easily appeased; each beetle and bunny—big or small—with or without fur. It usually caught and held my attention longer than my own kind did. Perhaps it was because they couldn’t speak; I had never heard a butterfly yap as my mother did, or even as other foals did. I could relate to animals who held a silent voice much better than with those that waggled their tongue.

It was because I couldn’t talk that much of my time was spent honing other senses. Hearing and smelling, not everything could be simply be seen. Some things where felt; and I was coming to find that the most important of things where sometimes tidbits of information that couldn’t be seen at all. Such as when the sky opened in the morning, you could already tell that dawn was coming long before our bright blaze filled heaven. I turned to look back at my mother, noticing now that a tall figure had emerged from the treeline and was coming up on her.

I’d seen my momma interact with a handful of adults; watching this sort of ongoing was just as important as learning which plants are safe to consume and which would give regretful sickness. I wasn’t born with social grace, manners, or the starting’s of anything aside from selfish infant needs. Like every child that had come before me, I had to watch keenly when given opportunity if those valuable social lessons were to be learned. It wasn’t just vocal words that gave meaning, I noticed that people used their body language as well—sometimes they used only their bodies to communicate. Even the look inside one’s eyes could give away their intent. Momma nickered to the alabaster man, the stranger, a sound that I would never be able to make aloud. She welcomed him like a friend, and that was enough for me to take the necessary steps toward them without fear or worry.

He came, extending to brush against her muzzle. A traditional show of affection, or fellowship? I couldn’t tell which; somehow though, his caresses are unlike the ones me and Momma share. My mental fingers reach out to her. These threads are like silver rays of living light, extending from the soul—from my very essence; powerful, yet fragile and childlike. I ask a quiet question, one she would have known to be quick on heel, “Who is it?”

By the time he starts to speak I am trailing toward the opposite side of Momma’s blossoming heat, drawing back my whiskers enough to nuzzle a soft snout into the corners of her ebony flank. Every inch of her flesh is alive with warmth and comfortingly familiar, it is a throbbing warmth that soothes. I had felt those icy eyes on me, staring, long before my short steps ungracefully carried me to mother’s hindquarter. I waited silently, listening, because silence was all that could be mustered. Thankfully I would never be one of those yappy children; Momma would get to converse with adults—without the braying of a foal understep.

They conversed for a few moments, drawing themselves into a conversation that had nothing to do with me—yet, it had everything to do with me. I wouldn’t realize that for many months to come, just as I wouldn’t fully realize the implications of this fellow’s presence today. How can children measure the importance of a memory? Or the filling of a hole? Surely when I got a little older I would notice that something had been missing in my small world that consisted of Momma and me. If he had remained a shadow; surely I would have gotten confused, maybe even bitter. This memory would serve as a reminder, comfort, lesson. He is watching me again, though I’m not certain those eyes have ever left.

My crown lifts, brushing the high points of Momma’s quarter, taking liberty to gaze at the strong jawline of this towering stranger. I had no use for fear, it hadn’t been learned yet; nor was there a firm understanding in the high speaking ways of mannerism. It was only natural when dual glass orbs met the stare of my sire, that I stared as only a small youngling might look up with their fingers still trapped in the recesses of a too small mouth; innocent curiosity—I was looking into the gaze of my latest plaything of interest.

She reached for me, stroking the top of my neck and below. I was a physical sort of foal, so when Ma offered touch, hints of a smile took shape across this her babes lilac cavity. In turn my muzzle stretched out; pushing delicate snout into her face—trying to rub down the curve of her jowl that came within reach. “Sielu,” as any good natured child might, I shift my eyes to her to show my attentiveness.

Something was different about the way she stared at me though…I couldn’t give name to this change.

“This is Mauja the Frostheart.”

He…Mauja…moves from the opposite side to stand before me, exposed, yet there was also caution with half his body hidden, but the important half made appearance. I take a moment to observe all that makes this person who he was or…is—down to the heavy feathering that shields his feet. In time my forefeet would also have feathering, though it wouldn’t be the feathering of hair—but of frosty mist.

Like the rest of our family, there is a horn sprouting from his brow; icy blue and somehow dangerously beautiful. Like an ice sickle. “He is your father Sielu, and loves you just as I do.”

Lips had curved into an easy smile—now they pitched down in a way that was unflattering for this face, yet necessary to convey a feeling. I wasn’t an ignorant foal, Momma had taught me what such words meant; mostly by using example. Once before, we had seen an eagle pair--high uptop a tall green spruce. She had mentioned how they were a ‘mated pair’, fixing to have hatchlings. I learned through them that children had both a Ma, and a Da. Though I never thought to question the meaning it would have on my end of things; it was information that had been stored away for another day—and I had simply moved onto the next exciting discovery.

Gently I press out, stretching with silver tendrils until I had touched Momma’s mind enough for what I wanted to show. Through this bond I send her the image of that eagle pair we had seen some time back, verifying the word ‘father’ with a sense of needed assurance. “Hello Sielu,” My concentration wavers but holds our link firmly together with the same mild way of touching. I meet my father’s gaze, now they are staring at me with a recognizable tenderness—I wanted to say something, to say hello in return. Sending some of those magical cords his way I tried to make first contact. I also try something new; I was attempting to touch the minds of both adults at the same time.

Small fingers didn’t make it far; and this shocked me. Little face broke into a full out frown, tiny brows narrowed and my front limbs started to widen; as if I was bracing against whatever blocked my path. Prying deeper I pushed against the strange barrier, searching its smooth walls for entrance. Below, above, all sides, they remained intact and unable to give me boon. A child’s patience was short, and I held no exception. My attempts had always been reward with the release only speech could give, a simple release that all creatures seemed able to express in one way or another. This was unfamiliar and creating a hot ball of…frustration…it cloaked my face in heat—making me flush.

With a toddlers frustration I switched back to Momma, my questioning gaze turning to her for guidance. “I…can’t talk to him…what’s wrong?”

It is insanely frustrating. I don’t notice that my magic made him uncomfortable, I’m too busy trying to figure out why ‘it’ isn’t working. Trying to do something that normal people found easy, why couldn’t it be easy? Was there something wrong with this gift? My wondering creates a strange twisting sensation along each heartstring, this new sensation was even worst then the previous embarrassment of not being able to communicate. Would I fail to talk at all? Terrible wretched fear entered my soul, fear that crawled its first paths; sticky and poisonous.

Suddenly I felt her, my one true blanket of safety; my net of protection. She came closer, rubbing her muzzle along my strained features. I turned to her instantly out of distress, pressing into the side of her cheek that was closest to me as if she was my only form of strength and safety. Little limbs twist to take a step toward her warm shoulders in an attempt to be comforted. Momma had verified that that this man was…my…father? The mated half of my Mother? Had they made me as the eagle made chicks? Somehow I couldn’t think to ask this questions right now, and didn’t, though it would surely come up again later. I could ask and ask and ask, a gazillion questions could/would blaze through the tangle web that was a woman’s mind; even more tangled since I currently wasn’t a women, but a wide eyed toddler.

My eyes slide close as a way to somehow block out the words that screamed for release, that is when I hear her soft voice slip across my ears beckoning me to open up again, “I think he has a shield over his mind.” Shield. That was a new word to add ontop of a growing collection, feeling slightly more curious by this new word I dry mouth it as she had said it and turn my eyes upward to hear the rest of an expected explanation, “Remember how I have one for my body?” Oh. My lips curve into a perfect O, and I simply stare at her for a moment before turning back to this stranger that would be my Sire. Momma could apply a barrier around her physical body, protecting it from danger. I had seen her practice on occasion.

“She wants to talk to you, but she can’t. Her voice is not heard by ears.”

I stare at him, and wait. Not sure if I should try again, to afraid that I might fail even if the attempt is dared. “I’m sorry.” My father finally says after a long pause. I blink and keep silent (which was all that could be done.) “I didn’t know…I…don’t even know how to stop.” He seems frustrated as well, I can hear the hints of it in his voice; see the icy pools grow more focused. My own tight ball melts away and my feet take a timid step forward, head inclined toward him—this was something we would have to learn…together. “Would you mind helping me out? Just keep trying until I manage to let you in…”

Slowly I spare a glance at Momma to find reassurance, and turn back. With a deep breath, we begin again. Just as gently as before I stretch out, the invisible threads of silver light find his mind and I move to create a link.

Another wall stops me; this time my talent presses on, searching every inch for quarter. After a moment, nothing. Without my realizing it dual lids slither close and the strength of the light increases until he is the only thing I can feel. Worldly sounds fade out into a soft hum, they seem muted almost; even the presence of my Momma, though I can feel her all along—is dimmed.
Every ounce of willpower goes into finding a crack, a space. Finally a thinner spot is revealed, or so it seemed--I linger there, “Daddy….?” I test timidly, in voice that would mimic the flowing of a breeze.

Finally, I can feel the crack within his ice shield; my mind seeps through like a warm tide of pure light energy—for it was very warm because a child’s soul was the source. With that single word came emotion, raw intuitive emotion that swept into his frontal lobe so that he might feel the bubbly triumph which burst through this body as if nothing else could contain it. A bright smile creases across my face, each corner spreading wider than before until I am practically beaming up at him, “How are you?”

Softly, but quite readily I reply,, “Better now,” indeed I was certainly feeling much better--already my tense frame had grown immensely more relaxed now that our connection had been harnessed. “Are you going to stay awhile? Do you want to play?” An older child might wonder if this tall, serious looking creature would even give notice to the idea of games; but I was not an older child, nor was I one to miss out on an opportunity for companionship. Questions flowed out like a river, unchecked and full of giggles. Within the bond came visual flashes of me frolicking through the snow as if to add proof on how much fun we could have together. (With Momma as well, of course.) Chasing wild rabbit and fox out of playful sport. Darting between timbers with their branches heavy from a morning mist. Simply enjoying life, living in the moment—wasn’t that something a youth was well known for?

OOC: Sorry for the wait ^^; Not sure where the muse has gone off!