06-16-2019, 02:12 PM
Pteron watches quietly, his olive eyes never leaving the winged mare. The same is true for Aten, the stallion realizes, and so Pteron looks elsewhere. Not purposefully away from the broken mare, but rather towards the sparse woods around them, keeping watch on their surroundings in a way that suggests this duty is not an unfamiliar one. Aten tells her that the Riverlands are safe, which is not a promise that Pteron would have made. These lands are as neutral as the field and the meadow, but only by merit of averages. Kind hearts are as prevalent as black ones, though it seems that the mare who struggles to speak has been quite lucky with the two passersby who’d found her on the ground.
Aten offers a safer place, and at this Pteron glances back, curious enough to abandon the watch he keeps. He means to listen for her answer, but instead his attention is drawn to the crooked way her wing has been tucked against her side.
“That’s broken.” He says abruptly, gesturing with his blue muzzle toward the awkwardly folded appendage. The mare isn’t standing, he thinks, and wonders if perhaps her wing is not the only thing affected by her previous thrashing.
The champagne stallion had suggested that she walks around, he remembers, having only been half-listening, and Pteron nods in belated agreement.
“Can you stand?” Pteron asks. “A healer could mend your wing, but if you can’t walk to one that would make things more difficult.” He could go and find one, Pteron knows; he is certainly faster on wing than Aten would be on foot.
@[Vastra] @[Aten]
Aten offers a safer place, and at this Pteron glances back, curious enough to abandon the watch he keeps. He means to listen for her answer, but instead his attention is drawn to the crooked way her wing has been tucked against her side.
“That’s broken.” He says abruptly, gesturing with his blue muzzle toward the awkwardly folded appendage. The mare isn’t standing, he thinks, and wonders if perhaps her wing is not the only thing affected by her previous thrashing.
The champagne stallion had suggested that she walks around, he remembers, having only been half-listening, and Pteron nods in belated agreement.
“Can you stand?” Pteron asks. “A healer could mend your wing, but if you can’t walk to one that would make things more difficult.” He could go and find one, Pteron knows; he is certainly faster on wing than Aten would be on foot.
@[Vastra] @[Aten]