Slïth'creûn
Sunlit Shadows
Gender: Male
Parents/Affinity: Path & Pixie
Special Stats: Elemental (Nature)
Circle: None
From: Sionayra
OakHeart
One of the most interesting, if not enjoyable, blessings to have come to these lands is the new life of a Serian through mating. Many of their kind come from the land itself, naturally aligned with whichever element bore them the strongest, and yet a foal born of mother has come to my home.
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His development pleases and intrigues me. Upon first impression he seemed to be an entirely physical creature; for many months after his coming all focus had been on is surroundings and his own abilities to influence them. Beyond this almost casually obsessed curiosity, he revealed little.
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Observations have eventually brought results, all the same. He is quiet in nature, a fact that is reflected in his voice. As he grows it deepens and resonates with a depth that even his mother could never achieve, yet it is a low rumble that is reminiscent of a mudslide. The greens in his coat are richer than when he was first born, more as one would find in spring, and his wings seem to have gained power. Perhaps they will be able to hold him, eventually.
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His powers have grown with his limbs. No longer is he long-legged and gangly, as his muscles build with his practice. His hooves are often indistinguishable from the very earth; this is to his preference.
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OakHeart, as he was named, is more interested in watching than in being noticed himself. He has yet to meet his father, though he has grown exponentially. All he has learned of being a stallion comes from such observations of his bond mates, yet he is not entirely at a loss for a role model. The Soldier has taken an active interest in the colt and through their friendship developed into a prominent mentor. They have both grown through this, slowly evolving to a place where they can step outside themselves with a little more comfort.
OakHeart has a long way to grow still, even with this aid to depend upon. Though he reaches farther and deeper with his powers with each moonturn, he does not explore internally. Thus far he is a simple creature, enjoying the dance of the trees and the warmth of sun upon his back. His lands have few trees scattered lightly throughout, most easily compared to an open field of lush grass with some sparse growth within. This brings him joy, as do pears of all treats, and he gives little indication towards any but his own perception of nature. There are few signs of anger shown for his absent father, and a careless love is granted his mother. An easy companionship for his bonded and keeper must also be acknowledged. OakHeart can be called, if anything, content to grow with the slow ease of nature herself.
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He shares his mother's mindset to some extent; though young, his soul seems aged. There has been no indication of longing for other playmates his own age; when company is required he seeks Soldier, his mother or else the writer of this tome, his bonded. Horsefeathers amuses him, and he holds an easy respect for Sarge; the others are merely interesting for him.
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It is understandable, to some extent. With his abilities there is rarely a problem of finding something to catch his interest. Many foals play games; bucking, racing and prancing across the land they often discover small adventures to conquer together. OakHeart, called Greenhorn by the others, does the same with his elemental play, extending himself through the places he would otherwise prance.
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It seems that when something gains his interests it's focused on to the exclusion of nearly anything else - and yet it is not an intense scrutinization. His is a steady and stable personality, a calm dominance hanging over his aura. Far from aggressive or assertive, it seems that he will grow to be a true stallion that one may depend upon.
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Given time, it is sure that many more discoveries will be made of this quiet, if powerful, colt. In many ways he reminds me of both myself and my own mate. He watches me, even now, curious as to my activities. In play, as well as an honest effort at kindness, he weaves the living grasses around me into a hand, gently turning the pages as my quill records the quiet look of interest hidden deep within his eyes.
