07-25-2018, 12:28 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 420px; font-size:10px; font-family:verdana; text-align: justify;line-height: 110%; color:black"]To place the child within either category so soon would be a difficult task, their mannerisms falling into each for they seemed a ready conversationalist, as far as their vocabulary allowed for it might grow the more time that passed them by it still had holes, yet they found peace in time spent alone. Rather than one side they seemed to draw from both in somewhat equal measures for the moment, to a point they were comfortable in most situations, yet the flip of a switch could change that, their emotions seemingly running their actions over anything else.
In one of the various hammocks Aita had come to settle with a book, the leather of its cover cracked and faded, showing its age. Frustration showed within their expression, brows furrowed and a hard stare set upon the pages. They had taken to each attempt to read with a slight hope, wanting to push beyond the minimal borders of their knowledge, yet each only ended in the same place, anger curling about their stomach in a haze of heat. With a snap they closed the book, shoving it aside roughly.
Unfamiliar to them was the voice, close enough their attention was quickly caught, head swivelling around in search of the speaker. Finding Rosemary they thought better of trying once more to read, slowly standing, weight balanced somewhat precariously, before they jumped. A clumsy landing but one they managed to stick they moved closer to where the ocelot had set herself, gaze set upon the candle. The smell of it was nice yet unfamiliar, a soft hum rising from pursed lips as they finally slowed, somehow resisting the temptation to touch the candle.
“Can ya brin back da dead?” An odd question to say the least of, and from a child no less, their gaze lifting up towards Rosemary only briefly before it fell once more, watching the flickering flame. To what purpose they posed such a question not even Aita knew, it had simply popped into their head and they had spoken without giving it much more thought.
In one of the various hammocks Aita had come to settle with a book, the leather of its cover cracked and faded, showing its age. Frustration showed within their expression, brows furrowed and a hard stare set upon the pages. They had taken to each attempt to read with a slight hope, wanting to push beyond the minimal borders of their knowledge, yet each only ended in the same place, anger curling about their stomach in a haze of heat. With a snap they closed the book, shoving it aside roughly.
Unfamiliar to them was the voice, close enough their attention was quickly caught, head swivelling around in search of the speaker. Finding Rosemary they thought better of trying once more to read, slowly standing, weight balanced somewhat precariously, before they jumped. A clumsy landing but one they managed to stick they moved closer to where the ocelot had set herself, gaze set upon the candle. The smell of it was nice yet unfamiliar, a soft hum rising from pursed lips as they finally slowed, somehow resisting the temptation to touch the candle.
“Can ya brin back da dead?” An odd question to say the least of, and from a child no less, their gaze lifting up towards Rosemary only briefly before it fell once more, watching the flickering flame. To what purpose they posed such a question not even Aita knew, it had simply popped into their head and they had spoken without giving it much more thought.