05-13-2020, 07:30 AM
Where the wind musses Thorn's hair is where his mother used to place doting, thoughtful kisses. He almost thinks that's what the wind is: Wonder, come to him in another hallucination, gently plucking at his tangled mane and worrying over his gaunt face.
As far as reality goes, the glowing man is not particularly aware of it.
His face hardly changes when he realizes that the tousles in his mane are not his own doing but another's, and even then he wonders if his pain-addled mind has created something else, some stranger to torture him. Glowing, lilac eyes lift to find the wind manipulator's face - twitching ears perk to catch his soft, lyrical voice. Thorn doesn't answer him, not at first; instead he watches the stray flower and wonders if he his still capable of recognizing the flowers of his homeland.
"I have to come closer," Thorn answers slowly, voice cracking just the slightest in between syllables. He stretches his legs, one hoof after another, finally accepting Clegane is real as his pain makes the sabino's wound drip blood in heavier rivulets.
The flower, though dried and worn, certainly belongs to the jungles of Tephra. Thorn lifts his eyes from the crumpled flower to find Clegane's face. His magic casts a dim, white light upon the stranger.
"Tephra," Thorn states, voice quiet and tired. "It's from Tephra. My home." He offers a weak smile, one that does not even attempt to reach his eyes.
In the blanketing winter silence, the sound of the blood falling from the sabino's chest is deafening.
As far as reality goes, the glowing man is not particularly aware of it.
His face hardly changes when he realizes that the tousles in his mane are not his own doing but another's, and even then he wonders if his pain-addled mind has created something else, some stranger to torture him. Glowing, lilac eyes lift to find the wind manipulator's face - twitching ears perk to catch his soft, lyrical voice. Thorn doesn't answer him, not at first; instead he watches the stray flower and wonders if he his still capable of recognizing the flowers of his homeland.
"I have to come closer," Thorn answers slowly, voice cracking just the slightest in between syllables. He stretches his legs, one hoof after another, finally accepting Clegane is real as his pain makes the sabino's wound drip blood in heavier rivulets.
The flower, though dried and worn, certainly belongs to the jungles of Tephra. Thorn lifts his eyes from the crumpled flower to find Clegane's face. His magic casts a dim, white light upon the stranger.
"Tephra," Thorn states, voice quiet and tired. "It's from Tephra. My home." He offers a weak smile, one that does not even attempt to reach his eyes.
In the blanketing winter silence, the sound of the blood falling from the sabino's chest is deafening.
@[Clegane]