06-17-2015, 10:32 PM
Oh look, oh my star is fading
She listens to him intently, not giving him her name not because she guards it, but because it isn’t important compared to him and what he's going through. She can see instantly that he is rattled, that he's trying to come to terms with something, and she's interested to note that it must not be only she who has come back from the land of the dead with a little something extra. He thinks he's a ghost sometimes, and she wonders if he's right. She looks him over with the eye of one who's an expert, and maybe she's as close to an expert as anyone gets on the subject. After all, she can talk with those who are actually ghosts, for sure. But she's too polite to ask them until she's sure he's done speaking, and so she waits in silence while his words run together and spill out of his mouth like worry.
"No, Gail couldn't come back." she says, and her voice is just as sad and defeated as his would be if he knew for sure. They had had the same focus, perhaps both felt pulled by the once-mother. And in the end, perhaps, both had failed her. "I don't think…she could, really. Not properly." she sighs, her shifting, color changing eyes a storm of rainbow as she looks at him sadly. "There's rules, Ramiel. I don't know what they are but I know they're there. And we'd have had to break them to bring her back." she's starting to understand things now, now that she's got an open line of communication to the land of the dead. There are reasons why the dead and the living can't cross over. It's just not right.
She supposes, in time, he'll learn too.
"I don't think you're dead." she states flatly, although her voice is still almost impossibly quiet. "I think you're either dead, or you're not, and that going back and forth is a real big problem." she thinks of the stories she's heard from some of her friends of the occasional horse that's gone to the underworld and come back. "That happens sometimes, where a horse gets dead and then gets un-dead. But it's not often, and it's not at will." she looks at him as though she's studying him, as though she's looking through him. "And besides, I can't hear you. I think I should be able to hear you, if you were really dead." never mind that she's talking about a kind of hearing that no foal their age should ever be able to understand – the kind of hearing that lets her speak to the dead.
"I think maybe you're just a ghost, but sometimes. Not all the time." she purses her lips, looking at him carefully. "Can you control it, or is it random?" She is not probing, not rough, just gently curious. She is the sweet mouse, impossibly innocent even though she's danced with death and flirted with the end of the world. She might be walking around with a symphony of the dead in her mind, but she's not dystopian. She's young, quiet, and happy.
"Oh, and my name's Wrynn. Nice to meet you."
wrynn