Nemeon had received an answer on the mountain, but left with a little more confusion. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had been frozen mid-stride by the first rays of the sun. There he remained throughout the day, oblivious to how sunlight had turned to cloud, and then cloud to a thunderstorm in the late afternoon that rolled across the mountains and drenched the land. A pair of sparrows took refuge in the fold of his wing, chirps echoing slightly against his stone skin.

It is hard to say who was more surprised - Nemeon or the sparrows - when the sun sets behind the thunderclouds and life returns to him. He balked first at the heavy rain and rolling thunder, and then at the feel of feathers tickling his side - and the small birds flew off squawking when his wing shifted and their haven was no more.

First bewildered into standing there stunned, and now growing colder by the moment as he became drenched, Nemeon made for the forest and the refuge it would provide from the storm that continued to clash angrily overhead.

Once underneath the trees that were showing signs of autumn, there was no space to stretch his wings and get the excess water off of them. The feel of the rivulets running across the membranes of them is distracting, almost ticklish, and it further feeds a disgruntled mood. He picks a direction and moves at a slow, brooding pace through the shadowy underbrush - forgetting, just for a moment, his quest and sitting instead in the discomfort that has started this evening.

He is always fascinated by the variety of creatures that live here in Beqanna - and it only seems to be growing more varied as the lands roll through their bizarre changes. Tonight, the mare that appears in the rain-soaked woods is illuminated by a gentle light, and Nemeon is dazzled by her delicate appearance: the gentle butterfly wings at her side, the colours that belong in a world he has never seen except in his torturous daydreams - a wildflower meadow under a spring sun.

The horned stallion's life is so filled with apologies he doesn’t think twice about how unnecessary hers is - there rarely seems to be a night spent without him uttering those words to someone, or something, as he continuously works on balancing his toxic existence with the desire to live.

So while he doesn’t tell her she has no reason to apologize, he’ll attempt to sooth away the worries that sparked it - a soft smile in those golden eyes as he replies quietly. “That’s what I was doing too.”

Perhaps we could do so together Nemeon thinks but doesn’t say. Because he knows he should move on, he knows they should just keep this as a brief, chance meeting while the rain continues to fall on the canopy overhead.

As if not speaking about it directly, but still attempting to evoke the same result, will absolve him of the guilt of what will happen if they were to draw too close to one another, or spend too much time in the same vicinity.

It is a twisted logic, sure - it's also all that he has keeping him sane. He does not want to leave, and does not want her to move on just yet either, so he asks instead - “Does that light always follow you?”

His golden eyes watch with fascination as she takes a step to demonstrate the light - and his gaze lingers on it, greedily taking in every glowing molecule until it fades away and leaves them in the rainy darkness. Nemeon often feels like he's just a large moth, without all the hairiness involved - drifting (whether physically or just emotionally, like he is now) towards it.

“It’s beautiful.” He tells her honestly, keeping himself rooted to his spot. The light doesn’t linger long enough to be of any help if she were to lose her way, but just its presence tugs at Nemeon’s heart - makes him over-romanticize the idea of it, even though light such a commonplace thing for almost everyone in the world. “You'll never be left in the darkness.” So long as she kept moving - but, still - that was something.

The word ‘gifts’ makes Nemeon wince, snapping him out of his light-infused dream - that word landing on him and needling into his skin. He knows she didn’t mean anything by it - she couldn’t have possibly. And it’s hardly her fault that, as old as he is, these facts about his life and who he is still weigh on him instead of becoming things he accepts and has gotten over.

He shakes his head, his expression tight with exhaustion. “Not any that I’d call gifts. I turn into a statue when the sun rises, and only transform back into a… breathing creature when it sets again.” He’s lying by omission, not telling her the other thing hidden by his skin - but this moment was already so fragile and Nemeon does not want to be the one to shatter it. Not until absolutely necessary. And she seems as cautious as he - so there may never be a need at all.

So far, Nemeon had never met someone with abilities that could rival his in terms of how downright depressing they could be. Even though Anaise’s could be cruel, showing him what he wished for, it was still beautiful - still marvelous. If he ever paused to think about it, he would realize that of course there would be parallels - even worse things - out there in the world. But Nemeon never did pause to think about it.

Out of habit, he is quick to shake his head at her apology - lingering on it despite the fact that she does make the attempts to move on. “It’s not your fault - I think most abilities probably are gifts so it’s usually a safe question. I am just unlucky enough to be cursed instead.” It sounds bitter, even to his own ears, and Nemeon’s belatedly ashamed about sulking so obviously - making a small face at himself as though he had just tasted something sour. There are habits that are hard to break, despite the fact that he really is delighted to be sharing space with someone.

He makes some effort in that moment to accept her tentative smile and the opportunity she provides him to focus on something else. “I’m Nemeon, and I’d like to say I’m normally not such a drag but I don’t know if that’s really true anymore.” His golden eyes flash with a small smile at this little self-deprecating joke. It lightens his mood a little - and he does his best to cling to that brightening and let him inspire him. No point in allowing himself to linger in the dark thoughts when he’s already physically, perpetually, trapped in darkness. Right?

Speaking of the dark - that at least gives him a little idea and his golden eyes warm in a more sincere smile - allowing himself to feel the joy and hope that bubble within him hidden among the rest of his usual emotions. “Since the rain does not seem to be letting up, would you like to see one of my favourite places in the forest? It isn’t far.”