04-06-2010, 07:27 AM
ooc: mergh, this is hard to do because Harlowe barely speaks XD. At least Shmee gets to practice introspective!Cerridwyn!
word count: 338
ic: The saddled female's heart warmed as a smile broke out across Harlowe's muzzle. It transformed the adolescent into a completely different being; he went from a moody, pouty teenager to a shy, endearing young adult. He had kept his eyes trained on the earth, the trees, the ocean (pretty much anything but the hybrid) since the moment he began to speak, but Cerridwyn did not comment on this. She figured it was a kind of coping mechanism; the pale kid seemed uncomfortable around people in general, but she was making progress, and she didn't want to set that back by not allowing him to use what he needed to keep from clamming up again.
"But I get scared to talk." Cerridwyn blinked. The idea of being afraid to speak was one which completely dumbfounded her. How did one get by without spoken communication? Sure, it was possible, but why would you go to the trouble of doing so when you had no physical restrictions preventing speech? There was so much that could be said for the spoken word; it could show care, or hate, or frustration, or a myriad of other emotions. Of course, facial expressions and body language helped with this too, but still. Language was almost an art form, in a way. Her brow furrowed in concern once more, and she looked upon Harlowe with great interest. "Wha's scary 'bout talkin?" she asked gently. "Words're jus' words. They en't like blades er stones er thorn thickets. They c'n be 'arsh sometimes, bu' they en't gonna actually 'arm ye, though yer feelin's may get 'urt from time t'time. Words c'n be powerful, bu' only iffen ye let 'em." It wasn't so much that she wanted to make Harlowe talk. If he wanted to spend the rest of his life mostly mute, that was fine; but she felt as though there was a personal hurdle that the creamy youth needed to overcome, and of course, she was keenly interested in making it her business to help him achieve this.
word count: 338
ic: The saddled female's heart warmed as a smile broke out across Harlowe's muzzle. It transformed the adolescent into a completely different being; he went from a moody, pouty teenager to a shy, endearing young adult. He had kept his eyes trained on the earth, the trees, the ocean (pretty much anything but the hybrid) since the moment he began to speak, but Cerridwyn did not comment on this. She figured it was a kind of coping mechanism; the pale kid seemed uncomfortable around people in general, but she was making progress, and she didn't want to set that back by not allowing him to use what he needed to keep from clamming up again.
"But I get scared to talk." Cerridwyn blinked. The idea of being afraid to speak was one which completely dumbfounded her. How did one get by without spoken communication? Sure, it was possible, but why would you go to the trouble of doing so when you had no physical restrictions preventing speech? There was so much that could be said for the spoken word; it could show care, or hate, or frustration, or a myriad of other emotions. Of course, facial expressions and body language helped with this too, but still. Language was almost an art form, in a way. Her brow furrowed in concern once more, and she looked upon Harlowe with great interest. "Wha's scary 'bout talkin?" she asked gently. "Words're jus' words. They en't like blades er stones er thorn thickets. They c'n be 'arsh sometimes, bu' they en't gonna actually 'arm ye, though yer feelin's may get 'urt from time t'time. Words c'n be powerful, bu' only iffen ye let 'em." It wasn't so much that she wanted to make Harlowe talk. If he wanted to spend the rest of his life mostly mute, that was fine; but she felt as though there was a personal hurdle that the creamy youth needed to overcome, and of course, she was keenly interested in making it her business to help him achieve this.