I don't play by the rules

GWYN uh-oh, running out of breath, but I oh, I, I got stamina Wait here, Gwyn is told, and the filly waits until the older mare turns her back and moves into the jungle to roll her eyes. Where was she going to go? Going places had got her in this predicament. She was going to stay exactly where she was, and hope for the best – surely her father would come looking for her, soon, and Duir had to be on the hunt, as well. Sighing, the rain slipping down her small body, she hopes that they are reunited soon. She’s never spent so long without one of her parents, and the loneliness has begun to ache, though she steadfastly ignores it. Looking up at Ki’irha’s return with her ears lifted, they quickly shoot back at the too loud words. Glad that she has the volume of the vocalizations to blame, rather than the angry tightening in her chest at having been left here for some social outing, Gwyn tries to maintain a collected exterior. She reminds herself that they’re both stressed; she’s homesick, and this stranger has to pantomime with a child. It’s not a winning situation, for either of them. “My dad,” answers the girl, unsure how to mime out either of these things; instead, she says them slowly, forms each syllable distinctly, hopes and prays to whatever Rift spirits will allow the stranger to understand, “and Duir.”

Image by Jody Roberts@Flickr