Animal Guru | PRIVATE

Seven had spent the first few days at the temple restlessly going in and out of sleep as his young body tried to recover from the physical and mental stress that had fallen on the Talorians. Finally he had awoken, and groggily began to piece together the bits of information that passed between all of the survivors. Inaria was gone. It's citizens were either here, held in Torrine, or... dead. The colt could hardly process the gravity of it all, but as each day passed and none of his family arrived his hope began to wane. He began to listen obsessively to the names, the horses whose whereabouts were certain, that stragglers brought with them. Another day passed before one came that he knew. It was his father's name.

It was whispered solemnly among the small group of guardians that had managed to escape to the temple, along with many other names of guardians, and even the Defender. As they bowed their heads in a silent prayer for the deceased, Seven had broken from the temple and galloped to the nearby pond that the refugees were using for a drinking source. He collapsed at the water's edge, his world swimming violently before going dark once more. 

He was found and brought back to the temple, where once again he awoke at the feet of Cascade's statue. But when he looked up into her grave face now his did not hold the reverence it once had. Instead, he stared blankly back at her. The chatty, imaginative foal fell into a somber mood, not speaking to anyone, hardly even acknowledging the other refugees. He refused any food or water that was offered to him, and as the days passed the clerics began to fuss over him, trying all they could to get the foal to drink. The attention drove the colt further away, and he began to hide deeper in the ruins, lying in the darkened recesses of the nave until night. Only then would he come out and walk among the sleeping horses. Those that might still be awake he ignored, single mindedly focused on the strange drawings etched into the walls. He studied them to a point of obsession, willing them to hold the answers to the tragedies surrounding them. But he could not make any sense of them. They were completely different from all of the history books he had read and stories he had been told about the gods. But nevertheless he poured endlessly over them, staring at the same drawings over and over.

But these weren't the only strange thing that caught his eye in the temple. Each night the flutter of wings or the patter of tiny feet had pulled his attention from the drawings to Jala, one of the older colts that had helped guide him from the chaos. Every time the quagga slept it seemed that he became surrounded by butterflies and birds, which, even in Seven's childish mind, was odd. The first night he had observed it Seven had thought perhaps it was just the magic of the temple luring the creatures in and Jala happened to be in the right place at the right time. But with each passing night Seven's suspicions rose. He spent one whole night tossing around the idea that perhaps the other colt simply produced small winged creatures when he slept. Maybe someone else was bringing them to mess with the striped horse, but the few other horses that were awake never seemed immediately interested in Jala, and even if they were their prank hadn't worked because it sure never woke him up. No, he slept quite well with them around. Seven wasn't sure he'd ever seen someone sleep so much.

After several nights of becoming increasingly distracted from his studies he decided to get to the bottom of things. As the sun rose, instead of retreating back into the ruins he sat near the colt and waited. And waited. And waited. How long is he going to sleep!? the colt was just thinking, when finally he saw Jala stir. Like a dog waiting expecting their master to wake up and feed them he straightened attentively. His stomach rumbled (how many days since he had last eaten?), but he pushed the gnawing hunger away as he listened to Jala talk to the otter. The colt tilted his head, squinting. As the butterfly flew away he blurted out, "Why do the butterflies like you so much?" The blunt question cut through the quiet mid-morning, in the overly loud voice of a child, particularly one who has has forgotten about their "inside voice."


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