11-17-2015, 11:54 PM
The faint hint of dismay and lost hope visible on the other stallion’s features stirs something within him he had long since thought lost. Compassion. Only the faintest hint, but there nonetheless. He can too easily recall the crushing emptiness associated with the loss of ones memories. The fear and gut-wrenching worry of what was and what could have been. Eventually, one learns to live with it, to accept the gaping hole where memories had once resided. Simply moving forward until that hole shrinks, until new memories are made that displace the awful emptiness of what once was. But it is not a quick process. And Hurricane can fully empathize with how Sindor might be feeling at this very moment.
If he is lucky, he might regain the lost memories. Hurricane had never been so lucky.
That had not stopped him though. He had remade himself, forged a new man out of the shell of the old one. He is quite satisfied with his new life and can no longer regret the loss. He doesn’t know the man he was before, but he knows the man he is now. And to him, that is what matters.
Hurricane is not surprised at the other stallion’s slight reluctance to give the intense reflection a break, though he seems to heed his advice nevertheless. The frustration must be eating him alive. Or, if it isn’t yet, he has no doubt it soon would be. But a sore head never helps anyone.
”Your questions will be answered in time, or they won’t. Either way, you’ll do yourself no favors by making yourself ill.”
Stepping forward, he lifts his wing out of the way as he offers the battered stallion his assistance. When they have reached the creek, he eases away slightly, giving Sindor space so that he could quench his thirst. He stays near enough that he can assist if needed, but he sees no reason to crowd the man unnecessarily.
”I can help you clean the wounds a bit, if you’d like.”
He extends one wings slightly, indicating that he could use the appendage to collect water. The things were rather brilliant at soaking up water. Annoying on most other days, but potentially useful today.
”Injuries of the mind heal best with sleep. At least mine did. To that affect, I could offer you a safe place to rest, if you’d like it.”
No doubt Camelia could offer him the same thing (he recognizes her, if not by face then by name. She had been queen after all, and he has little doubt she is here for the Gates, even if she has not said so directly. He doubts she would recognize him. He had been little more than a Tundra soldier when she had ruled. That he is king now makes no difference. It is not something he regularly bandies about). He’s not even sure the other man would care for the Tundra. It takes a certain strength and fortitude to thrive there, and he simply doesn’t know Sindor well enough to have seen if he has what it takes. But he would be remiss in not offering. Besides, the Tundra has a way of taking care of its own.
If he is lucky, he might regain the lost memories. Hurricane had never been so lucky.
That had not stopped him though. He had remade himself, forged a new man out of the shell of the old one. He is quite satisfied with his new life and can no longer regret the loss. He doesn’t know the man he was before, but he knows the man he is now. And to him, that is what matters.
Hurricane is not surprised at the other stallion’s slight reluctance to give the intense reflection a break, though he seems to heed his advice nevertheless. The frustration must be eating him alive. Or, if it isn’t yet, he has no doubt it soon would be. But a sore head never helps anyone.
”Your questions will be answered in time, or they won’t. Either way, you’ll do yourself no favors by making yourself ill.”
Stepping forward, he lifts his wing out of the way as he offers the battered stallion his assistance. When they have reached the creek, he eases away slightly, giving Sindor space so that he could quench his thirst. He stays near enough that he can assist if needed, but he sees no reason to crowd the man unnecessarily.
”I can help you clean the wounds a bit, if you’d like.”
He extends one wings slightly, indicating that he could use the appendage to collect water. The things were rather brilliant at soaking up water. Annoying on most other days, but potentially useful today.
”Injuries of the mind heal best with sleep. At least mine did. To that affect, I could offer you a safe place to rest, if you’d like it.”
No doubt Camelia could offer him the same thing (he recognizes her, if not by face then by name. She had been queen after all, and he has little doubt she is here for the Gates, even if she has not said so directly. He doubts she would recognize him. He had been little more than a Tundra soldier when she had ruled. That he is king now makes no difference. It is not something he regularly bandies about). He’s not even sure the other man would care for the Tundra. It takes a certain strength and fortitude to thrive there, and he simply doesn’t know Sindor well enough to have seen if he has what it takes. But he would be remiss in not offering. Besides, the Tundra has a way of taking care of its own.
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
