12-31-2017, 01:21 AM
She cannot fathom the weight he must carry. The only thing Wound can compare it to is the constant burden she carries with her from her malformations. That is something she feels each day, throughout the tides of the hours. However, her confidence can lessen the force of the emotions (disgust, doubt, appreciation, love, frustration, disappointment) that follow her. In retrospect, the crown is a burden that is — ultimately — carried alone unless there is a equal counterpart.
Wound can see the effects of the crown already in her friend (she does consider him a friend, especially compared to the ratio of other Tephrans she knows). His eyes are dimmer, darkened by the crises she does not understand. In enough time, perhaps lines of worry or stress might drag themselves along Warrick’s handsome face. In Wound’s opinion, laughter lines are the best sort of wrinkles rather than those formed from negativity.
She is proud nonetheless. There are few achievements higher than ruling (or in Warrick’s case, protecting) a kingdom and Wound hopes his time spent in the position will be well-worth it. The navy and bay stallion speaks of his hardships already and the silver bay, in an action of bravery, steps forward to place her chest against his and wraps her neck over his withers in a comforting embrace.
The touch stirs her darker thoughts once more, but she pushes them away in favor of innocence.
After a moment, she pulls away from their close proximity and offers him an encouraging smile. Warrick inquires about her own personal life and Wound’s coffee gaze meets him with an expression of mingled apprehension and contentment. “I’ve been well, actually. It feels good to finally have a purpose. I haven’t had the chance to meet others besides Femur and Longclaw.” Her ears twitch at the thought of the fanged mare and her blue mate. There is prospect of a friendship to blossom between the three, but Wound thinks it will take a longer bit of time to stoke the flame in contrast with her relationship with Warrick.
“I love it here though.” Maybe someday she might be able to bring her brothers to Tephra and show them the gracious joyfulness she has found. “It’s quickly becoming home.”
@[Warrick]
Wound can see the effects of the crown already in her friend (she does consider him a friend, especially compared to the ratio of other Tephrans she knows). His eyes are dimmer, darkened by the crises she does not understand. In enough time, perhaps lines of worry or stress might drag themselves along Warrick’s handsome face. In Wound’s opinion, laughter lines are the best sort of wrinkles rather than those formed from negativity.
She is proud nonetheless. There are few achievements higher than ruling (or in Warrick’s case, protecting) a kingdom and Wound hopes his time spent in the position will be well-worth it. The navy and bay stallion speaks of his hardships already and the silver bay, in an action of bravery, steps forward to place her chest against his and wraps her neck over his withers in a comforting embrace.
The touch stirs her darker thoughts once more, but she pushes them away in favor of innocence.
After a moment, she pulls away from their close proximity and offers him an encouraging smile. Warrick inquires about her own personal life and Wound’s coffee gaze meets him with an expression of mingled apprehension and contentment. “I’ve been well, actually. It feels good to finally have a purpose. I haven’t had the chance to meet others besides Femur and Longclaw.” Her ears twitch at the thought of the fanged mare and her blue mate. There is prospect of a friendship to blossom between the three, but Wound thinks it will take a longer bit of time to stoke the flame in contrast with her relationship with Warrick.
“I love it here though.” Maybe someday she might be able to bring her brothers to Tephra and show them the gracious joyfulness she has found. “It’s quickly becoming home.”
@[Warrick]