Hushed Willows i'm not uncomfortable feeling weird

hopin for an updated @Cam thread but aw! <3

atwood's obsession with getting away from his parents' watchful gaze is, as he learns more words, slowly replaced by an incessant need to chatter. he narrates his goings on, describes what he sees, takes delight in every new syllable captured on his tongue. running off alone doesn't hold the same appeal as trapping olive or seabreeze into an extended diatribe on the nature of a particularly pretty butterfly he saw, he finds, but there is still some pleasure in getting to explore. it's just that elysium is so, so pretty, and someone has to collect all the beautiful words to explain that.

might as well be him.

the baby blue of his eyes has finally begun to soften, taking on a greenish hue -- not dramatic, but strange to the boy, who is studying his reflection in a puddle with some intensity. they remind him of seabreezes, he thinks with some pleasure, and leads down to bump his nose against the puddle. today will be a good day.

She seemed to think that her siblings were avoiding her and the young wolf poured as she searched for something to do. It was so boring here. She wished she was in another adventure either by herself again or with her family she didn’t care.

Minnow came across another and wagged her tail. “Hi!”

a voice breaks his reverie and he lifts his head from the puddle, still crouched comfortably against the ground. another child, one he hasn't met -- not one of cam's siblings, he doesn't think. she's a little older than him, but friendly, which puts him at ease. "h'llo," atwood returns shyly, "who're you?"

She for some odd reason wasn’t expecting him to speak, but he did and she wagged her tail. “My names Minnow. Who are you?” It was only fair right, she answered his inquiry.

so sorry for the wait!

she introduces herself as minnow, a fact atwood accepts with minimum acknowledgement beyond the flick of one of his tiny ears.  "a'wood," he answers -- still tripping over the t in his name, mouthful of syllables that it is. he leans back and regards her for a moment, deciding how social he feels like being; the answer is yes. "s'pretty today," atwood says dreamily, "don' you think?"

He said today was pretty and the pup was stumped; she didn’t know how a day could be pretty. It was interesting yes, but pretty? She smiled and just nodded her head. “Yes it is.” She said simply.

yes it is, she says; he watches expectantly but she doesn't say anything else. his eyes flick from her face back to his puddle for a moment. luckily for her, he knows exactly how to fill a silence. "esp'sh'ly the way the sun looks," he says, "an' all the dappled shadows, see?" he points to where the sun has shown through the leaves of the nearby willows, leaving hazy streaks of shadows on the ground, interpersed with light. "it's like -- like spots. but.. prettier, i think."

She thought the encounter strange at first but as the boy spoke she seemed intrigued on how he saw the world how he described it and she gave a soft smile. “I never saw it that way before.” She said as she took in the sun as it set.

he feels unaccountably pleased as she speaks. this is something important, he thinks, a babyish ephiphany, the way words can change how people see, or, or feel even. "i wanna see things dif--dif - er - rent -ly," atwood explains, taking care to get the more difficult word right. it feels important, too, to be able to use the words he wants to use, to say them well and not stumble. stumbling frustrates him. "an' to tell everybody 'bout what i see." with a small, self-satisfied nod, he sits, his tail curling around his toes as he watches the sun set, too.

She liked this ones ideas on things and smiled as he talked about his plans and wants. "I want to travel all over and meet as many people as I can." She like being able to travel and see the landscapes learning as much as she possibly could about everything. "You should! I like the way you describe things."