I'll settle for the ghost of you.

It is an intimate thing, soul summoning, of that they were agreed. Seeing a soul was seeing the most vulnerable part of another person and each one was an untold chapter, a part of a book that had never been finished to completion. Even the most well-lived and satisfying of lives always held some sort of, for lack of a better term, unfinished business. Regrets, forgotten dreams, aspiring hopes. Stories they still wanted to write, stories they wanted told, stories they hoped wouldn’t be forgotten. The souls still held all of these memories and feelings even if they weren’t corporal beings. It could be thrilling, terrifying, overwhelming.

Perhaps he would have also shunned this aspect of himself if it hadn’t been for one thing. He had definitely been headed in that direction after being called that life changing word, terrible, that feeling of shame that followed him just because he could do what he did… It had almost been enough to close the door and bolt it up tight. Then Aela had come along.

She had encouraged him where other’s had disgraced, had been patient with his hesitance regarding a power she didn’t truly understand, had filled as much confidence and care that she could into the cracks of him that souls sometimes threatened to deplete. It was Aela that had taught him that his curse could also be a gift and that not all stories needed telling, just the right ones.

It was Aela that now kept him from summoning willingly, that little voice Terror had been manipulating convincing him that if he used it… If he dared peek through the crack… It would be her soul he saw.

When he had found Firion in the forest, stricken and grieving, there had been a thought that maybe he could help. He had never found out the truth of what had hurt the stallion, what loss he had suffered, he had only recognized the signs of pain and grief. There had been a moment when he had wanted to offer what he could do, to see if he could bring whoever had been lost and ease that ache. It was only his own uncertainty and confusion that had made him clam up, that had let Firion go without another word as his confidence had shriveled up around him as well as the burning question he had initially sought him out to answer. If only he knew that the source of the older stallions affliction stood before him, safe at least even if she wasn’t whole. If only he had known Firion had lost his mother in the first place… If he ever saw him again at least he could say with certainty now that he understood that pain completely. That there was nothing he wouldn’t do to get to her or bring her back.

And if it meant wading through the darkest of souls like the one that had stubbornly clung to his back since the fall of the South, he would do it in a heartbeat.

If he ever saw Firion again, perhaps he might understand him better now.

Ryatah is still a mystery though. What she is, of that he is certain. Yet he feels there is more to her than that. More than her stardust wings, more than the golden halo that hovers over her head. There is something in her that brings peace and warmth… And there’s something about her that strokes at the terrible parts of him, those dark fibers that made it hard to chase away souls like Terror, and they shiver with anticipation. For weren’t the mightiest of angels terrible in their own way?

If she had told him of all the things she was suppose to be and in all the ways she was not, he would have merely laughed. It wouldn't have been out of viciousness, only who would have thought they could have anything in common with a divine being? As young as he was, unkindness and cruelty were things that had followed him since birth. He had seen demons, both in the blackest of souls like Terror or in the actions of others. Like when Obscene would drink too much nectar, when BoneBone had tried to lie and deceive him. Like Gale, the creature that had killed the jaguar mare.

Nobody was without their faults, he was coming to learn. Terrible, disgraced, broken. Whatever mistakes or flaws Ryatah had… Even a fallen angel is no less an angel, at least in his eyes.

The sting against his flesh had been momentarily forgotten but it comes back with a vengeance when she turns her attention to it. He nods quickly in consent for her help, left to wonder yet again if there was anything she couldn’t do. He is only slightly taller than her and so he bends a little awkwardly to allow her to reach him better. “Thank you.” He murmurs after a few seconds of silence, curiosity bringing his head around to watch while she worked. “Not just for this… For getting him off my back too.”

I'll settle for the ghost of you.

He understands dark tendencies and so far, for the most part except in small incidents, has been able to resist them. However, even under the heavy weight of his denial, deep down he knows that since he is terrible, he more than likely won’t be able to resist them forever. So maybe he would understand why she could turn a blind eye to him in one moment and help in the next.

How funny, that an angel might be cursed as terrible too.

He doesn’t know her past though, the terrible things she has witness or partaken in. He cannot see her gray even if he stands in the same area himself. What he does see is the endless black eyes that remind him (with a painful flutter) of Liesma’s. The beacon of her halo that is far from tarnished. The golden light that soothingly closes the angry wounds on his back that’s similar to what he’s seen Obscene do. And all of these things, in his eyes, are good things. So that is all he can see in her.

There is no rush to be freed from the closed distance between them, finding sanctuary in the peace left behind from Terror and the comfort of another living breathing being after traveling alone for so long. He only watches with growing curiosity as her muzzle lingers near one of his jaguar spots. What was she thinking? He finds himself dying to know. She beats him with a question of her own and he doesn’t speak right away although a hint of a frown finds his pale mouth.

“Sometimes.” He admits, turning his head to her to see her more clearly. Terror was usually not a soul he willingly called, one that more or less used that connection he had to force itself through. He wasn’t always so troublesome though, at least the shadowed voice in his head doesn’t seem to mind him every now and then. “He’s kept me company though since I got lost.” It takes him a second to realize she might not know what he means. “I use to live in the South.” He says quietly, arching his neck and pressing his muzzle to his chest in a moment of self-soothing need.

Out of the corner of his yellow eye, he watches the lazy drift of stardust and the way it glitters into his dapples. Reminding him once more of someone who he use to know. “Are you related to Liesma?” The question escapes from him suddenly and he clears his throat, feeling uncertain as new tiny flames sprout along his shoulders. “You just… remind me of her a bit.” Those endless dark eyes, the similar connection to the sky and beyond above, that strange sense of peace that he had once found in the meadow at midnight. An ache of homesickness wraps itself around him, cementing itself in his lonely heart, and then he remembers there is no home to go back to and glances away from her, disgusted by the tears that shine unshed in the depths of strange yellow. 

It was one thing to be touched by an angel and another thing entirely to have one see you cry.  

I'll settle for the ghost of you.

Her apology might be an empty one but it is an appreciated one all the same. Even if she could find no fault in what Carnage had done, he wouldn’t have shamed her for that either. How the South had fallen was still a mystery to him, he was clueless to the root of what had happened. And if… No… When he found his mother again, it would not be surprising to hear her speak of it with something like awe instead of disapproval. Especially if Carnage was behind it all.

There is no surprise when she shakes her head, admitting that she wasn’t sure who he was speaking of. It’s disheartening but he was starting to learn it was better to expect disappointment then get his hopes up too high. However, what follows brings an interesting idea to mind and he turns to fully look at her, cautious hope flickering in his strange yellow gaze as he sees the remorse in her expression. “Could I be related to you?” He asks uncertainly. 

Perhaps it was as stupid a question as his one to Firion asking if he was a doppelgänger from the future. He looked nothing like an angel, being terrible seemed like the exact opposite of what someone related to a heavenly being would be. He asks anyways. Despite his undying loyalty to the mare who had taken him in, he would always be curious about the family he had never known. That hadn’t wanted him.

There is a sudden boost in his emotions, not unlike the feelings Aela would sometimes send, and her reassurance washes over him in a cool wave before wrapping around him like a weighted blanket. It eases some of the building tension, the rising worry, and he exhales soft and slow. Releasing what he could not control. If it had been anyone else, he might not have opened up. Yet he feels safe here beneath the golden halo of an angel. So he does. “The Pampas. I lived there with my mother, Aela.” He halts, swallowing down his hesitance. 

“The earth split and I think I was drowning in the sea.” Glancing down, remembering the water choking the back of his throat, filling his nostrils, the blackness that swallowed him whole. Waking up with Terror wrapped around him. “I woke up on the Isle after. I just got back to the mainland.”