02-08-2021, 01:17 AM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
“Don’t get up,” she tells her gently, and by now she is moving forward. Even though the girl is clearly terrified she can only hope that she will soon see that she is here to help and not inflict further harm. Thankfully, there was nothing about Ryatah that was even remotely intimidating. She has always been soft—often too soft. The glow that radiated from her was an easy one, and though brighter than usual in the pitch of dark, it further accentuated the worry in her almost-black eyes.
Her chest clenches when she immediately recognizes the sounds the mare is trying to make. They are awkward on her fully equine tongue, but fluent in comparison to anyone else that might try to mimic it. She is confused, and she has so many questions, but with the girl writhing on the ground in pain she pushes them aside.
She reaches forward, slowly so as to not startle her even more (or at least, she is trying not to). Her lips rest just lightly near the top of her neck, and she lets the healing begin to work in the surrounding areas before shifting, her touch now directly on the worst of the injuries. The injuries inflicted from Ripley and her offspring are not entirely normal; they are not as easy or as quick to heal as wounds inflicted by wild animals or scrapes of tree limbs and rock. She has had her healing long enough though that it is not too difficult, and when she feels the mare begin to relax as the pain eased she asks her softly, “Does it hurt anywhere else?”
Her chest clenches when she immediately recognizes the sounds the mare is trying to make. They are awkward on her fully equine tongue, but fluent in comparison to anyone else that might try to mimic it. She is confused, and she has so many questions, but with the girl writhing on the ground in pain she pushes them aside.
She reaches forward, slowly so as to not startle her even more (or at least, she is trying not to). Her lips rest just lightly near the top of her neck, and she lets the healing begin to work in the surrounding areas before shifting, her touch now directly on the worst of the injuries. The injuries inflicted from Ripley and her offspring are not entirely normal; they are not as easy or as quick to heal as wounds inflicted by wild animals or scrapes of tree limbs and rock. She has had her healing long enough though that it is not too difficult, and when she feels the mare begin to relax as the pain eased she asks her softly, “Does it hurt anywhere else?”
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —
@[Nostromo]