|
Post by Favrian Durfow on Jun 9, 2013 18:16:40 GMT -5
Favrian experienced a rush of modesty when the little girl found his simple use of magic to be worth the brightening of her eyes. His momentary reply had been a fond, nostalgic smile, because her enthusiasm and youth reminded him, quite keenly, of his own blissful childhood.
Trying not to find her stem of a tail quite curious, Favrian also noted, upon reaching her side and launching forth some conversation, that she was quite easily distractible – something he could heavily relate to. Before his 11th year of life, Favrian had lived in his mind, predominantly, so much so that it was nigh impossible to keep him focused on reality for more than a couple of moments. It had been a nightmare with many worries for his parents, because he wasn’t doing spectacularly at all at school. In fact, if it hadn’t been for his mother’s painstaking effort to constantly and consistently aid him with his homework, he would have never passed at all.
Everything changed once he passed that autistic moment, and age came with the ability to notice everything else, as if living in his head for so long had left him with a craving for the outside world and its workings. Quickly, in a year, he made up for his lack of extraversion, and proved to be more than capable of studying, excelling at it. In the same meticulous way that he studied his inner world, he began observing everything around him.
While he couldn’t pin-point her age, Favrian assumed Sumire to be somewhere around 13. The way her attention was absorbed by her task was slightly reminiscent of that age. Of course, at his age, Favrian was quite flexible, quickly shifting his focus from painting to perceiving his little companion. “Adults in general,” he clarified for no reason, for he didn’t intend on furthering that line of thought, then nodded lightly to her gratitude – something she would probably not see.
Clearly, he had to find a new way to speak to her, or simply allow for since to spread comfortably between them as they worked on their canvases. Since he was in a bit of a playful mood, Favrian decided to add an element to the background of her painting as to draw her attention – it would be something that fit with whatever she was fashioning, like a singular flower in a field, or a tiny bird on the branch of a tree. While his ability to mimic her style could only be the product of ample practice, there was always a personal touch about the additions that only the most observant of critics could notice.
“Do you come to help out with the Festival preparations every year?” He asked, patiently, injecting his question after placing a small, colorful songbird on a branch of her tree.
|
|