Wet Fire Bug

Gabriel the woods are lovely, dark, and deep “We should go back to mommy,” he is quietly bemoaning, steadily making his way behind his sister, keeping his distance (though it hurt him as much as walking did to do so). His eyes are soft and pleading, and his head is low, ears splayed to the sides, rain dripping from their tips in dreary droplets. Nothing about this land is good. It has already taken one parent from him. He glumly thinks of all these things (and feels the pulse of fear and the throbbing of his ankles, as well), wishing with all of his heart that he could go back to the life before this one. The woodland had been pretty, and the garden had been full of flowers. The woodlands here were dark and horrible, and the flowers looked keen on violence, more often than majesty. The leering eyes in the trees didn’t help, either, and as a glowing, tracer light whirls through the air and seems to take along after him, his pace hurries, and he nearly bumps into his sister’s rump when she stops. His hind end flops over, instead, his lame ankles giving way when all he’d done was ask them to hold his weight for half a second, and his small head pulls back and up, ears lifting for the first time since they’d set out on what Requiem called “adventure” and Gabriel called “horror.” “Oof!” he says, haunch and side promptly smeared with black mud that he looks at, feeling a terrible disgust and sadness rise inside of him to be so filthy; looking back at her with the annoying little brother face, he grumbles at his sister, as if it’s her fault, “Requiem! My coat’s all gross now -” But he quiets, because he does hear it, though it’s only Requiem who can smell the smoke. All Gabriel can smell is the stench of the mud as he clambers to his feet, and morosely stares into the woods at the source of the popping, whooshing sound. When Mara begins to growl, the calico colt can’t help but agree – doesn’t sound like anything good. Leave it to Requiem to decide that this insidious, unknown noise and mysterious smell was something they should look into, he thinks, knowing better than to try and argue. Besides, maybe somebody did need help. Gabriel just wasn’t sure what good two foals and a shape-shifter would be. Making their way closer, he notes his father’s gift is smeared in mud now, too, and is suddenly mad. Stamping with as much ferocity as a cripple might, his ears are flipped backwards when the small, gentle boy and his sister come upon Galahad, and the small disaster he’s found himself the source of. Oh Gods, the tribrid thinks to himself, as his sister sweeps in to save the day. Gabriel, of course, is too afraid to do anything. He’s never seen fire left to be so unruly before, and the instinctual fear of it roots him in place, and even makes him wobble back a few wary steps, orange eyes reflecting the flickering light. When Requiem’s rain begins to fall, however, he does move, eager to wash off some of the muck she pretty much pushed him into, and as he moves, he finds his voice. “Did your wings do that? ” he asks, head still lowered in a timid stance, his hooves carrying him with a scurrying pace to Requiem’s side. Gently extending his wing to make sure he’s “a wing’s away” as she told him to be all the time, he casually retracts it after the measurement, as if it’s a normal thing to do – hovering your wing tip at your sister’s side for a split second. Perfectly normal. All the while, his eyes look over the charred, still smoldering remnants of the plants that had been burned, his heart feeling a small amount of pity of the horrible plants of this horrible realm, which had died in the blaze, or were surely wilted beyond repair. “Sure glad I’m not on fire.” but I have promises to keep & miles to go before I sleep

USDA@Flickr