Priya was whittling a small piece of wood. The shape carved out of the block resembled an ugly bear, even though it was supposed to be a horse. She wasn’t that skilled in whittling, and the products of her artistic outbursts had always been crude at their best. Yet this piece was particularly clumsily carved, as a moon ago she had managed to accidentally cut her fingers and even though the wounds had healed miraculously well, the fingers were still stiff. They didn't work like they used to.
She pressed the blade against the wood’s surface, steering it carefully with her thumb, while biting her tongue in a state of deep concentration. Her goal was to make the horse's neck a bit thinner.
Suddenly her hound, Norman, padded to sit in front of her. She raised her gaze from the wooden item and looked at him. Norman tilted his head, his observant eyes bent on the wooden toy. Priya smiled proudly at the dog and took the tiny wooden horse in front of his eyes, moving it as if it was galloping through the air. “It’s Antin.” Her smile was quickly tinged with sadness. Antin had been Seia’s horse, whom she had both adored and feared.
Priya narrowed her eyes, feeling that Norman had suddenly this ridiculing look in his eyes. As if he had thought that her carving didn’t look like Antin at all. Which it didn’t, -everyone- could see that. She playfully gave the hound a gentle nudge. “Don’t look at it like that. It’s not ready yet!” She chuckled, continuing 'galloping' Antin in front of the hound’s eyes.
Eventually Norman who was confused by the girl’s play, attempted to grab the item in his mouth, thinking that Priya’s precious Antin was actually a toy, offered to him. Priya pulled quickly her little creation back, pressing it possessively against her chest, smiling at Norman. “No. Don’t take it. I know you miss them too, but it’s not ready yet, so..you can't take it...no matter how much you’d.....miss him...”
By him, she did not refer to Antin.
Her pale green eyes filled with tears, but she quickly forced a smile on her lips, wrapping her arms around the scarred one-eared hound. “At least we have each other…. If nothing else. You, me, and Ginger. We’re always together. Right?” Norman did not reply, as dogs can not speak.
