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 Posted: Tue Feb 14, 2017 12:57 pm
 In the church, Caprice was used to the echoes, the sanctity of quiet. But when the choir stopped singing to the Nine, when the congregation had gone home, there was emptiness in the shadows between the alcoves, whispers from the flickering candles that left Caprice aching for warmth.
So he volunteered his time with homeless shelters, with addictions support groups, with outreach programs--anything to keep people coming in and filling the hall with their voices and motion. He had little interest in converting anyone, merely a deep need to be of use, to help others.
But as individuals had drifted into his life and picked themselves up with his assistance, they drifted right out again. Caprice felt he was permanently standing at the doors, watching people go and longing for a warmth that would remain.
Perhaps....
Perhaps what he really needed was someone specific to care for. Someone to raise, to aid through all life's troubles and challenges. Someone he could tend to and press close to his breast. In telling them all would be well, perhaps they would make everything well for him too...
Caprice mulled the idea over for many long weeks, asking in his prayers at dawn, at noon, at dusk: was this a selfish decision? Or was this his purpose, his answer?
Time and again, the answer came back clear and positive.
With tremulous excitement, Caprice left the church one balmy afternoon, consulting his map to the nearest Imbuing Clinic.
There was a bounce in his clicking hooves that had not been there for some time.
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