Vadar
Seven characteristics are in an uncultivated person, and seven in a learned one
He’d waded out into the middle of the green water and trained his eyes on something nonexistent in the distance, until the stumbling splash of someone else arriving at the creek interrupted his solitude. Perhaps the old version of himself would turn around hastily to look and prepare for escape, but presently he was interested in the way the current carried bits of flotsam downriver and less concerned about who or what might be behind him. They could see him like a great black smudge in the water, hairless in most places and his tail nothing but sprouts of flyaway, black strands. There wasn’t much of a mane to look at anymore.
He was practically sitting on an oddly-placed boulder, clearly enjoying the shallow stream but after a moment of quiet contemplation he finally turned to peer over his shoulder, glancing casually towards the brightly-colored horse that stood out from the tangle of green around her.
For what felt like the millionth time, deja vu struck him.
Vadar sighed. Lately he’d been having those sort of moments when he least expected them. It stemmed from having woken up in a sweaty mess not far from the foothills of the Mountain, where he’d tried so unsuccessfully to piece together the months of a fever dream that’d been his life prior to this moment. Having suffered so long from the plague was like having someone take an incomplete puzzle and shifting all the small pieces around until they no longer fit; he knew facts like his name and who his mother had been, but most things like his fear of strangers and his disgust at his own appearance were gone.
They’d been replaced with the knowledge that he had powers now, and that somehow his brain had been shielded from the death grip of the plague. Someone had come along and helped but he doesn’t remember who. He doesn’t even remember the star girl or the pink pegasus that stands upstream from him now. He only knows that he is a creator of sorts, and that he won’t succumb to delirium anymore.
“Don’t worry, I don’t judge.” He said aloud eventually, noticing the hint of unease on Jude’s face. “And yes, I’m sick. So you might not want to drink from this particular creek.” He told her bluntly, feeling like she might’ve asked anyways. At this point the plague was as common as sand or grass around here; if she wanted to stay away from the leprous kind he was giving her fair warning. Not that his particular case wasn’t obvious enough. “Sorry to spoil the water but I was here first.” Vadar laughed, and the white line over his mouth grew wider.
@[peregrine jude]