the firestarters always get the burns
and the good guys never get the girl
Oceane seems to have fallen out of her role - and probably for good reason. Ilma bites her lip as she does the same; when the winged mare repeats the word ‘son’ and seems to withdraw, Ilma can guess it wasn’t a prediction about flowers and rainbows that she must have outed in front of the soon-to-be mother.
Her amber gaze tries to catch the other mare’s, but the latter turns - unwilling to face it. But whatever Ilma thinks she had said… the lack of explanation when the ethereal mare had asked, the lack of eye contact - there must be more.
”Oceane,” she calls her back softly but surely, ”I cannot see the past.” It’s a bit of a guess, but she is relatively sure about it. She steps forward a bit, stretching her nose, wanting to touch and reassure, but hovers there in the last moment, unsure if her touch will ignite something else. ”Please tell me about it. Don’t let it poison your mind.”
@[Oceane]