I'm the hero of this story
I don't need to be saved
I don't need to be saved
His question was never going to be a proper, pious one, or really even one with any true curiosity behind it; August had been planning to give in to baser, childish instincts he’d never been able to fulfill, like a boy messing with ants in the backyard.
Almost at once his intent wavers. Up close the boy’s scar is grotesque, a long gnarled line that extends well beyond the milky blind eye, and the palomino’s sympathy outweighs his want for trouble. August opens his mouth to speak -
And closes it again when a whinny cuts through the dusty, wind-stirred air, turning with ears pricked with interest to watch a white-faced stallion come running down the street. August makes no attempt to temper the half-grin that spreads, incredulous, across his mouth as Solterrans scatter before the stranger, and when it becomes clear that the man’s path ends at the fountain August steps back, though not far enough to escape the spray of water. It feels cool against his skin, and silence descends on the plaza except for the slurping and splashing of the newcomer.
He’s still grinning when the man climbs from the fountain and immediately begins to roll on the brick, drawing stares both shocked and irate.
August looks back toward the unicorn, a brow arched. “Does this happen often? I was under the impression this fountain was holy.” By now there are clouds of dust rolling out, sticking to the places the water had dampened his skin, and the palomino turns again toward the antlered man. He can’t help it; he laughs at the sight of him, wet and caked with dust, and wonders if here is the kind of chaos he’s been waiting for.
“Hello, friend,” he says, making no move to step nearer. “Did that feel as good as it looked like it did?”
@Jask @Ezital
