Y'all Means All (Syn)

The concept of pride was all well known for Syn. After all, he comes from two mothers that made sure that he feels good in his skin. He missed them. He misses their sweet embrace, he miss their stupid little stories about their past lovers and family. He and Philip always cringed at those, disgusted by idea of adults being in love. Stupid. He misses his family, laying on those stone floors of the ruins made by ancients, alone and not cheerful at all. 

Looking around he thinks about that ‘pride’ again. When he was just a hatchling, the climate getting hotter meant that all dinosaurs started to celebrate who they are. Thinking of it, who is he? Thinking about it, he never really answered that question for himself. It took being separated from his family to realize that most of the dinosaurs aren’t really interested in the same gender. It's always females and males, altho he meet other dinos like his mothers. But in who he would be interested? The idea of romance makes him cringe, even as an adult. Weird. It always was this way, not feeling any particular feelings about any other dino. Was he broken? No, no he wasn't, that's not how he was teached. No one is truly broken, only lost.

He slowly gets up, his body cold from the stone floor. Slowly he moves from under the ruins roof, looking around the ghost town he made himself as home. Towers, taller then every tree he ever saw, grows around here, still intact. Only parts of those invisible barriers, scattered, broken by time or those flying creatures. He saw few nests there and there. Going down the road, he looks around, checking some of ruins. Not looking for anything particular, too busy with his thoughts. How did his family celebrated pride anyway? He remembers how his mother found many different berries, squashed by their powerful bodies to make little paints. They played with them. Pushing their snouts into them and using those as brushes,,, which wasnt the most efficient way. They really couldn't see anything what they are doing but it truly didn't matter. Mothers teached them about colors and their meanings. It seems that the ancients used to make different definitions for all of them and their combinations as well. Flags, thats how they called them. At least that's what grandma said.Thinking about it, he didn't saw many berry bushes around but…
He stopped in his tracks, standing in front of large building without doors or roof. Slowly, he walks inside, or rather, squishing his massive body in. After some struggle he pop inside, the door frame crumbling under him, making the door bigger then it already was. The insides, like everywhere, were completely ruined. Every piece of rumble and trash, many of them already taken by other dinosaurs that digged for anything worth something. But none seemed to take those little tubes that were laying all around. He crouch, taking good look at those tiny things. The bright colors of those could only mean that they are this inside, right? With his snoot he move them around, looking for… not sure which ones, to be perfectly honest. Maybe just those that he likes, those that ‘speaks’ to him. After moving them onto one pile, with the mightiest gentleness, he pick them up with his teeth. Getting them all inside his mouth before standing up and, once again, squeezing right through the hole. This time was easier, thankfully. Not really chancing anyone trying to steal from him, in fast pace he gets back to his ‘home’. He misses their nest, he really does. The bright and happy colors they left each summer. The stupid amount of feathers all around and how they made sleeping much comfier.

The warmth of another body in the cold night.

He gets back to the ruin he calls home. Its big enough for him to stand up, probably was used by ancients to store larger items inside. The walls on two sides were merely gone, roof had many, many holes. When he looks up, he sees more of those rooms. He lives in one of those towers, slowly being taken over by foliage. Its comfy, i guess. He drops all his paints on the floor and looks at them for a moment, thinking. What now? Not having much of a better idea, he starts to squish the tubes with his snoot, one after another. And paint. On the nest he made out of rubble and some softer material, he starts painting one of those flags. Starting with warmth yellows right to cold blues. He likes those colors, reminds him of when they saw sea. He isn't sure what they meant exactly, his memory isn't as sharp as before the accident. But he likes them, he truly does. Laying down in his nest, he looks at them fondly. He hopes his family is still proud as ever, it was their favorite month after all.

He misses them.