09-26-2015, 09:48 PM
All things are possible, even the worst of things.
In some respects, her history had been quite similar to his, but in many others, so vastly different. He had made the most unlikely friends as a youth. He had called a mare from the Valley (who had lived decades, had a penchant for tripping over her own feet, and could not figure out children to save her life) his closest friend. She had been staunchly loyal to the kingdom until her last breath, even going so far as to try to convince him to join her beloved Valley on her death bed. He had been heartbroken when she had died, taking solace in her young daughters. But he had never been meant for the Valley, despite all the hours, days, he had spent there in his youth.
Instead he had become a drifter, wandering aimlessly between the Amazons and the meadow, unsure of what he should do with his life. At least he had been, until the realization had struck and he had been called to the Deserts.
As he studies the dark mare, taking in the ashes and soot staining her skin, he wonders what her story is. He had always enjoyed hearing other’s stories. It is one of his best qualities, as well as one of his biggest flaws. His curiosity. His hungry mind continually seeking all forms of knowledge. And he can tell, simply by looking at her, that she has quite a story to tell.
She does not disappoint him. The Gates burned today, she says. And what he feels is not disappointment, but alarm. What did she mean the Gates had burned?
His alarm is rapidly replaced by concern. The soot and ash tell him that she speaks true. The Gates had truly burned. But how? Why? His immediate reaction is a tactile one, stretching his muzzle forward to brush gently against her neck. It is a gesture meant to be comforting, to let her know that he is here. Bits of ashen dust fall from her neck where his skin meets hers, his breath causing soot to flutter and drop to the earth. Withdrawing only slightly, his warm brown gaze finds hers.
Are you hurt?
He has to ask, even though she appears perfectly hale. He would not wish her to suffer in silence while he natters mindlessly on.
Do you want to talk about it?
While his curiosity is foremost, ever present, he is kind enough that he would not wish to push her into discussing something that causes her pain. No matter what paroxysms he might suffer for lack of information. But then she continues, her insight astounding him. She had pegged him exactly. Unfortunately his ghosts are largely literal.
Yes.
He pauses, considering what to tell her. While he does not particularly mind sharing his woes, he must admit that hers are much more pressing. It is her gentle touch that finally decides him, causing the words to spill from his lips, his voice cracking as grief wells up once again.
It’s just that, everyone I love is dying. Or disappearing.
Instead he had become a drifter, wandering aimlessly between the Amazons and the meadow, unsure of what he should do with his life. At least he had been, until the realization had struck and he had been called to the Deserts.
As he studies the dark mare, taking in the ashes and soot staining her skin, he wonders what her story is. He had always enjoyed hearing other’s stories. It is one of his best qualities, as well as one of his biggest flaws. His curiosity. His hungry mind continually seeking all forms of knowledge. And he can tell, simply by looking at her, that she has quite a story to tell.
She does not disappoint him. The Gates burned today, she says. And what he feels is not disappointment, but alarm. What did she mean the Gates had burned?
His alarm is rapidly replaced by concern. The soot and ash tell him that she speaks true. The Gates had truly burned. But how? Why? His immediate reaction is a tactile one, stretching his muzzle forward to brush gently against her neck. It is a gesture meant to be comforting, to let her know that he is here. Bits of ashen dust fall from her neck where his skin meets hers, his breath causing soot to flutter and drop to the earth. Withdrawing only slightly, his warm brown gaze finds hers.
Are you hurt?
He has to ask, even though she appears perfectly hale. He would not wish her to suffer in silence while he natters mindlessly on.
Do you want to talk about it?
While his curiosity is foremost, ever present, he is kind enough that he would not wish to push her into discussing something that causes her pain. No matter what paroxysms he might suffer for lack of information. But then she continues, her insight astounding him. She had pegged him exactly. Unfortunately his ghosts are largely literal.
Yes.
He pauses, considering what to tell her. While he does not particularly mind sharing his woes, he must admit that hers are much more pressing. It is her gentle touch that finally decides him, causing the words to spill from his lips, his voice cracking as grief wells up once again.
It’s just that, everyone I love is dying. Or disappearing.
shahrizai
hestoni x scorch