SSWM Word Count :: 373 Blurr crud post.
When Skoll finally looked around to see his father, Vigilante had shifted shape into his optime form, something that was uncommon for the King. He looked no less powerful and majestic, however, and the boy found his tail wagging quickly at the sight of the strong man. He had no doubt that his father could stand up to anyone and anything, that nothing at all could take him down. He was a King and looked the part, as far as the boy was concerned. All of his idolatry toward the creamy-furred dog seemed well deserved.
The fact that his daddy couldn’t ride horses didn’t detract from his heroic image, and the boy only bobbed his head in acknowledgment. Not everyone could do everything; his caretakers had instilled this in him a few times whenever he grew frustrated at one of his failed actions, whether that was trying to do something before his time or soar like one of the seabirds he saw drifting over the coastline.
“I wanna ride,” Skoll informed Vigilante with a shrug of his shoulders and a little grin. Or even if he couldn’t ride for some reason, he wanted to do something around the horses. Even running alongside them in a fully-grown lupus form would be fun, though he had slightly higher aspirations than what his father had accomplished.
Strong hands grabbed the child, who held still to make the job easier—at least until he saw the creamy horsey face, at which point he wiggled and yipped with excitement. The mare’s ears turned toward the boy curiously then flicked back again. At his father’s words, however, he calmed down once more and memorized the pair of names offered to him. He knew of Hawthorne, being the Marshall’s horse friend, but he hadn’t known that his father had an equine companion too. Or maybe he had and had forgotten, back when he was silly and young and didn’t care about the really really important things.
A loud gasp was his reply to his father’s suggestion before he peered with intense concentration at the mare, green eyes narrowed. It was an amazing responsibility to bestow a title upon a noble steed.
“Call 'er Jolie!” Skoll said, beaming. “Prettyface for short!”
Image courtesy of Frank Wuestefeld @ flickr; Table by the Mentors!
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