Nemeon’s bitterness comes in cycles. There will occasionally be nights where he wakes up just happy to be breathing again, where he finds beauty in the twilight hours that he is stuck among and the solitary life it seems to foster. Those nights he’ll watch the fireflies, tilt his horned head upwards to count how many shooting stars he can see. He’ll revel in the life that appears at night - though there is no way for him to know how it differs from what happens during the day.

It is all too easy to sulk - the unfairness of not being able to witness daylight, except as imitated by a friend -  and the pressing knowledge that his very existence is poisonous.

Tonight, when his body changes from stone into flesh, Nemeon feels the crushing weight of loneliness.

He wants this to be a night where he finds Anaise again, or maybe his twin sister. Or even his reclusive mother. Anything, anyone, to ease the near-silence of the night.

He had been deeper into the forest when dawn had come, some instinct encouraging him to find a quiet spot for his statue-self to rest during the day. Every part of him itches to go to where the trees are sparser now, from his wings that are longing to stretch to the ache in his heart just wanting to find someone to talk to.

Nemeon lingers just for a second, as though checking to see whether this desire to be social is fleeting, but it just continues to compress and then finally the young stallion is moving among the shadows - golden eyes bright and alert for signs of any one else. 

Although he had been hoping for company, there’s nothing short of surprise with how it chooses to manifest itself. A creature he’s never seen - some sort of blob of white and black fur - drops out of a nearby tree and startles the dark grey gargoyle into stopping in his tracks. He’s never seen a shapeshifter before - only has the experience of Anaise turning into the sun and then himself - so his surprise doubles when the fuzzy creature becomes a stallion about his age.

His shock slows his reactions, those carefully honed things that he’s been so careful about, and before he knows it the pale purple stallion is introducing himself and then reaching out in greeting. It takes actual physical contact to jumpstart Nemeon’s brain into actually working. He attempts to stumble backwards, but they are in a forest. There’s no where to go. Even if the trees are a little sparser here than where he had begun his journey tonight, his hip collides with a branch as he tries to move.

Fear pumps loudly through his veins, reminding him that he is very much not stone at the moment. His wings unfurl a little but there is nowhere for them to go either, they’re just held out a little from his body in an effort to enforce a tiny bit of space.

But his golden eyes don’t dare look away from the other, afraid to see any signs of discomfort. “I uh…” Nemeon isn’t sure what to say - answer the questions asked or explain why he had tried to get away. Or maybe he should just leave?

There’s just such an easy smile on Link’s face, Nemeon could not stomach the idea of leaving and not knowing if he had left behind sickness for such a kind stranger. “I’m…” His second attempt at figuring out what to say gets nowhere either so he swallows, and hopes that the stinging he can feel on his back isn’t torn flesh.

When he does manage to speak, it’s not the ‘hey don’t touch me I might make your hair fall out and your stomach twist in painful nots’ warning that it should be. He’s still recovering from the 0 to 100 surprise night that is happening. “I’m only stone sometimes.” An apology would be in order too, but it’s clear from his wide golden eyes he’s still in a bit of shock. He’ll get there eventually, for now he just operates on auto-pilot and that means only answering the questions asked. “And uh, I’m Nemeon.”

The autopilot and shock only last long enough for the effect of his presence to start affecting his company. Nemeon watches in horror as a thin trickle of blood begins to drip from Link’s nose. While there is probably any number of things that could have caused it, the most obvious one is the likely source. That had been where contact had been made, after all. And Nemeon had been slow and stupid and shocked enough not to move away fast enough.

His own stomach twists when Link tries to laugh off the queasiness he must be feeling and Nemeon finally successfully angles himself enough to take another step backwards, now squeezing his wings tightly against his side so that he takes up as little room as possible.

With space between them, Link’s smile seems to brighten but Nemeon’s remains absent. He is still staring at the blood, still horrified and yet still somehow not running away as he should. “Cursed is a good word for it.” He mutters and is about to answer the stone question - or come up with a reason to flee further despite the insistence that Link doesn’t bite - when the lavender stallion surprises him by vomiting.

Fear grips him and Nemeon barely feels like he’s breathing as he pushes back further, snapping a few branches in his insistence for them to let him pass.

Did he know any healers he could send over? Perhaps if he found Anaise he could wish her the ability to help Link.

Since he does not know where she is at this exact moment, Nemeon hopes all this could-have-been-a-friend needs is more and more space.

“You… you’ll feel better if you stay away from me.” His voice is quiet and strained with his guilt.

Nemeon really does not know what to do - Link seems so earnest, so nice, and completely oblivious to the warnings that the grey stallion is attempting to give. Would it be easier to admit this fault of his openly or to find a way to get Link to leave? Rudeness does not come naturally to Nemeon and he does not even know where to start to try to chase the other boy away.

But neither can he find a way to say ‘if you’d like the hair to stay on your body you really, really should leave’.

The best option would be for Nemeon himself to leave - he just doesn’t do that either. It is hard to walk away from a conversation when they are so few and far between - when he spends his days encased in a silent stone tomb and now that he is flesh and blood again he does not wish for quiet.

Now he thinks that the way Anaise had read his thoughts made things easier - she had just known, to some extent, without him having to actually say the words out loud. He wants to toss those thoughts at Link now, anything to avoid that conversation or see that well-deserved look of betrayal.

Link’s only concern is that Nemeon does not tell anyone about the impressive upheaval and instead of everything else that he should be saying or doing - he is quick to reassure. “Of course not.” Nemeon glances around, like the trees will give him some direction on what to do - and, in a strange way, they do. “Let’s… um. Let’s go somewhere where there’s a little more space, ok?” Even if Link just thinks it is to get away from the stench of the sick, or to give them both a bit of air, it will hopefully still have the same effect. Link will feel better and maybe he just does not need to know that it’s because Nemeon will be standing a little further away.