That everything good is happening somewhere else?
My question regarding children seems to send Warship into a reverie, one more of a brooding nature than nostalgic. My mind flits to my mother Kagerou and my nephew Rhaegor, both of whom claimed the gift of telepathy. If only I could read your mind, new friend, I muse. Then perhaps I could help lighten that burden you shoulder. But our friendship is indeed too new and the man before me, I sense, too new to connection to bear my empathy. His next words confirm my suspicion, though the mention of new children sees my ears perking and head nodding.
"Wisky and Nadja. Those are proud names, both. I hope I should get to meet them one day."
As the conversation meanders on, the sun overhead dips towards the crests of the pine forest encircling the pair. For all her supposed evil, the Chamber offers a picturesque backdrop to the tender blossoming of masculine friendship between two prehistoric equines. Even the birds, momentarily eschewing their branches for want of peace and quiet, return to their posts before the orchestra of our harmonizing laughter finishes. Booming and rolling, whinnying and snorting, the two of us sound more like yearlings sharing a dirty joke than like relics laughing at their own expense; like Warship, I struggle to remember a time in recent memory when I felt so present, so free to be myself.
"Hey!" I retort at Warship's dig about my grays. I heave my weight forward, giving a bunny kick towards the muscled stallions' rear hocks. The rock of my hips back to earth gives me the momentum to raise my forelegs and I execute a smart levade to snake a nip towards Warship's crown. I wheel away once all four hooves find earth again, my Arabian tail arced in a classic display of spirited playfulness.
"Gray I may be, old man, and sway-backed too, but I bet I could still take you." My tone rings jocular and brutish, the fun of our encounter bringing back the bachelor tucked deep inside my immortal soul. The fact that I have never once been a warrior and that the last time I skirmished with anyone was when I hadn't yet finished developing my bones, gallivanting through the dense Amazonian underbrush playing war with Rodrik and Rayelle, does not faze me in the slightest. After all, I have my coat of illusionism to protect me!
Speaking of which, I use my magic to contour not-so-subtle muscle lines over my aged body, giving it a comic effect of my being some kind of super-horse rather than a super-grandpa. I pin my ears and rock my weight back and forth, ready to dodge and dirk from whatever he throws my way. "Come on, Old Fart Vice President. You aren't too old to get your knees dirty, are you?"
Never knew how healing it would be to play a grandpa but here we are and I am squealinggggggg, they have my heart