gaza
For as long as he can remember, Gaza has been surrounded by women who look fragile, but have a surprising strength nestled somewhere inside them. His Ima rose from the ashes, reborn from a fiery disaster as a beautiful, loving, gold-and-silver magician. Zilpah, when she put her mind to it, could even be strong in a sweet and innocent sort of way. Camrynn and Pevensie ruled with a gracious, yet firm strength. Dorne was built like a rock and wandered where she would, deciding not to settle until she found the right place. And then there were the ones he didn’t know: Etro (the defiant, lost princess) and Natilyn, and the ghosts of Nocturnal and Morphine and Kagerou, the absence of Quark (who was never coming back). They all carved their mark upon his mother, and she in turn, molded him.
He is still malleable plastic. Someone could come along and bend him this way and that, and so long as he thought it was reasonable, he would probably just go with it.
The silver mare says I’m not alright, but I’m trying, and Gaza’s head tilts a little bit to the left as he tries to study her, tries to see into whatever it was that was bothering her. He can’t, of course. All he can see is someone who seems rather sad and whatever that sadness is, has her rooted to the ground, as if she wanted to grow roots and sprout branches and live forever in her memories. And that, in turn, seems sad to him. To be someone who was happiest in their memories is to be lost to the world. Unable to live a full life. What could have happened?
“I’m sorry…” Gaza says quietly. Earnestly. “Is there anything I can do to help?” He hesitates for a moment, not wanting to scare her off. "I'd like to help, if I can.",/b>
It doesn’t matter that they’re still strangers.
vanquish x yael