Post by scrappy on Mar 26, 2014 7:57:36 GMT
photos (c) shi_stock @ deviantart.com
Mama said she named me Nathan because that's what father wanted to call his son. But I've never met my father. He was long gone by the time my feet first touched the earth. My big sister Maila says he wasn't good at his title of Dad and even worse at Husband. She says me, however, I probably would have been his favorite since he always treated her like a son. Which none of that really makes much sense if you think about it. Why would he care enough to pick out a name but not enough to stick around? That's why I go by Ryatt. It helps me rid myself of his ties, since mother always spoke of him in hurt tones anyway. If he had only known I was male, perhaps I could have saved her the heartache.
Oh, mother. It's been a year and a half now since I last laid eyes on her beautiful face. I am filled with worry for her, I know someone had to have taken her, she'd never have left us of her own will. Honestly, I believe it could have been father. He snuck up in the night as we all slept, hushed mother and whisked her away into the shadows. My sister and I woke the following morning, alone, terrified, and hungry. If it weren't for my beloved sister, Maila, I would not walk this land today. She taught me how to chew the sweet grass and drink from the creeks and lakes. She shielded me from danger, and taught me how to fight if the need arose. I love Maila, even if she's kinda mean sometimes.
Mama used to say I looked like my dad and Maila clearly resembled mom. I am not lacking in sinew, even at the young age of two. For the most part, my hide is as creamy as mother's aside from a solitary orange spot across the top of my rump and the bottom of my tail is crimson. I am already tall for my age, nearly the height of my sister who stands 15hh. I observe through eyes identical to my mother's, an unsettling blue in pigment that could abruptly shift to steely grey, crisp green, or various shades of blue in an instant. These days I'm normally trying to keep up with Maila and whomever may accompany her on that day, through this walk of life I'm so desperately trying to understand. And in the back of my mind I pray to run across Ataxia, my glorious mother, or even, once I'm large enough, Roush my deadbeat father.
cause a RYATT.