give me reasons we should be complete

[Tarian]

Yadigar's empty laughter raked over the coals of a dimming fire in his silver chest. It wasn't as he suspected - it wasn't the killing that made the taller stallion feel alive. He didn't need to see the hot (vibrant) lifeblood pouring out of another to remind him that he was still a living vessel; Tarian had thought the buckskin might need to see the life draining out of someone else to fill himself up.

But no.
There is nothing left of Yadigar that is still alive and Tarian blinks carefully, using storing that information somewhere inside his burning soul. Tarian has always liked control. Tarian has always liked order. Everything in its place, everything in its time. He had thought that was why he fell into a life of soldiering. Within the ranks, he got his order. As he rose through them, he found himself in a place to command (a role he had been groomed for since birth, like @[yadigar]) and so through his commissions, he gained control of his life again.

He'd learned from a young age that there is no order on a battlefield but Tarian learned how to channel his rage, how to feed his anger into the fight. (Paraiso should have never fallen. He should have never found himself conscripted into armies and legions that weren't his. He should have never been forced to take up causes that weren't his own. But that fury he bridled, he could unleash it in the wild moments of the fight. Tarian hadn't been able to fight in the cause that would change the course of his life and so many others - just a boy, the prince is just a child, they murmured - and every opponent he has faced since, Tarian has fought like they could be Cazador or Frostbane, like this would be the fight to change the course of everything.)

What does one who claims to be a husk have in common with another who is just a spark away from a blaze?

"Isn't that almost always the tale?" Tarian asks, disgruntled by the truth he pieces together in his mind, the place he always comes back to. The wrong place, wrong time. If he had only been a little older. If he had only been more experienced. If only -

Tarian frowns and the lines deepen around his dark mouth. He sounded melancholy. He rolls his shoulders and decides to make better use of his time among the canyons, to make the most of his... host while he still had his undivided attention. The milky-white of his sole eye probed at the pegasus who wondered, "so then tell me about Pangea." If Yardigar is not alive, is there something that stirs in this place instead? His blue eyes settle squarely on the draconic beast as he glances up. There is a part of Tarian that still loves the fight - yearns for it even - but his stoic side leans in, giving weight to that order that has carried him through life as well as his wings have. Straightening, he cuts to the point.

"I would like to be an asset to my kingdom. And there is, perhaps, an opportunity here. But I would hear your thoughts on this: how can I help Pangea?"