05-24-2020, 10:52 AM
He hadn't noticed the wound. Enchanted by the soft glow and tokens of far-away places, Clegane had overlooked the smell of blood. But when those lilac eyes meet the silver-grey of his own, he realizes that something is wrong.
"Oh," it is a soft admission in an exhale, a realization.
The channels of black that flow down the other's legs are hard to ignore, harder to look away from now that he has seen them. But still, the stranger comes closer, the wind-caught flower the only thing between them in their pool of silver light.
He gives a thoughtful response to Clegane's question and a weak smile that the pegasus never sees. Because suddenly, that same careful attention is turning up towards him, to see the extent of his face, garishly lit in ethereal light. It's too much, the light, the newness, the sudden realization that he doesn't want to see this stallion's reaction to his face - pity, disgust, or even worse, Violence's morbid curiosity.
The flower falls and the wind rises as Cleganes mottled wings do the same. He stumbles a step back into the shadows and looks to his right as if something beyond the back wall of trees his attention. He realizes how strange he must seem. But his reaction had been too sudden to recover from gracefully, and he stands there holding his breath.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
As painful as this is, he doesn't want Thorn to leave. He doesn't want to be alone again just yet, and he blurts out the first question that comes to mind.
"If you have a home, what are you doing here?" There is no judgment as his question reaches out into the silence, if any emotion was betrayed by his lowered voice it would be loneliness, longing. And he slowly turns to look back and see how much damage he has done.
"Oh," it is a soft admission in an exhale, a realization.
The channels of black that flow down the other's legs are hard to ignore, harder to look away from now that he has seen them. But still, the stranger comes closer, the wind-caught flower the only thing between them in their pool of silver light.
He gives a thoughtful response to Clegane's question and a weak smile that the pegasus never sees. Because suddenly, that same careful attention is turning up towards him, to see the extent of his face, garishly lit in ethereal light. It's too much, the light, the newness, the sudden realization that he doesn't want to see this stallion's reaction to his face - pity, disgust, or even worse, Violence's morbid curiosity.
The flower falls and the wind rises as Cleganes mottled wings do the same. He stumbles a step back into the shadows and looks to his right as if something beyond the back wall of trees his attention. He realizes how strange he must seem. But his reaction had been too sudden to recover from gracefully, and he stands there holding his breath.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
As painful as this is, he doesn't want Thorn to leave. He doesn't want to be alone again just yet, and he blurts out the first question that comes to mind.
"If you have a home, what are you doing here?" There is no judgment as his question reaches out into the silence, if any emotion was betrayed by his lowered voice it would be loneliness, longing. And he slowly turns to look back and see how much damage he has done.
