» Lost & Found

GWYN uh-oh, running out of breath, but I oh, I, I got stamina   The forest of color had been her home now for several weeks, and Roscorro had been with her the majority of that time, whether she had actively seen him or not. It was no different now, she was sure. Though the large dragon man was no where in plain view, the filly would have placed a bet on her guardian not being far, or, if he was gone, that he would return shortly. She had taken to staying in the clearing in which she'd tripped on him, and it was where she was now. Though she wouldn't admit it, she had grown accustomed to the man's company, and sort of missed him when he was off doing whatever he did without her. She'd already learned her lesson about wandering after adults when they'd asked you to stay somewhere, however, and though the time without her friend was boring and scary, Gwyn did her best to do as she was told. It was often harder to do than one would think. The ice of the strange winter gave way to a heat that was akin to a dragon's breath, or so the filly's imagination described it. Her activities in the clearing when she was alone had changed with the times; no longer did she gather up wood for the fire, or carefully nudge the coals into place. She, instead, hugged the shade, and wished with all her heart that there was a lake closer by than the one beneath the mountain for her to cool off in. Leaning against a tree in utter discontent, the filly sighs mournfully. A voice answers her. 'Will you come?' Lifting her head and looking out towards the stranger's summons, her first thought is that she shouldn't go. It could be a ruse, after all, and following some beckoning thing she didn't know was probably unwise. She had been here a long time, though, and she was bored, as well as miserably hot. Perhaps a distraction would help? The distraction, however, was an unpleasant one. Though she doesn't recognize some of the changes that have come over him (a physical body, for one), the filly stops dead in her tracks as soon as she sees the god. Something about him is gratingly familiar, and it makes her belly fill with ice, and her knees begin to tremble. Immediately regretting her decision to come out this way, her ears slip back, and her pale blue eyes scrutinize the being with both fear and her standard, naive boldness. She doesn't speak, rather stares, her ears and eyes watchful for any sign to run, or someone to run to, as well as other clues as to why this stranger is so familiar, when he is also so very frightening. Her nostrils wrinkle as she drinks in the smell of the blood falling to the earth beneath him, fully expecting the smell of decay and rot.

Image by Jody Roberts@Flickr