[private] between the lines of fear and blame | heartfire

[Gale]

Gale it's hard to keep a straight face when i just want to smile -- starlight crashing through the room, we'll lose our feathers The ache in his head left by the monster has finally dissipated after a full night of sleep. OR perhaps a full day of sleep. Gale is no longer certain of the time, and only the coming and going of the tide convince him that it is doing so at all. Something skitters down by the water’s edge, and Gale’s sharp eyes turn toward it. Too dark to see. He scowls and looks harder. Something shifts within his newly healed eyes, a hot spark of magic he hasn’t felt before. He’s given and taken sight, and flipped through images of the past seen by others. He’s never had need to alter his sight though, nor reason to think himself capable. The small pale shape of a crab dances along the water’s edge, and the black sky lightens to a charcoal grey. He follows it up to where the sun hovers in the sky and finds that a myriad of colors radiate weakly from the dim and distant ring of light. How strange, he thinks, but how useful. He looks around himself again, and finds that the words is easier to see, and that the same colorful light seems to emanate from all things warm. Perhaps this is what the Alliance has given him, but he is doubtful. It feels too familiar, like a window he’s passed by but never actually looked through. Gale looks back at the water again, but all is dim. It is the land that appears bright, and as Erne swoops down to land on Gale’s mane, the brindle stallion is nearly blinded by the colors that emanate from his companion. Dazzled, he blinks until he’s back to his own equine sight, and is grateful a moment later when something far larger and equally warm draws near. @[Heartfire]