The light that meets the dark
The stallion - because he is a stallion - isn’t much older than Cheri herself. Comparatively, both are also infantile when it comes to the longevity and lifespans of the immortals who live among Beqanna’s vast herd. But Cheri? Cheri looks up and sees the dark outline of his face contrasted against the night sky and what does she see? Not an immortal and not a horse who’s close to her own age, but a spirit guide. A mythic; a stallion who seems older and wiser than she’ll ever be. She could chase him every day and never catch the tail-end of his two year gap, but for some reason it makes her want to fly toward the sun anyways - if only to feel its warmth burning her dark pelt. She reasoned that if she couldn’t touch the sun, at least she could bask in its glow.
And like a ray of warm sunshine, Targaryen calms her innate fears. Her breath hitches; Cheri sucks on her lips to keep from sobbing again and blinks her eyes, nodding silently that she understood.
“I’m Cheri.” She told him, eager to exchange more of herself (as if she hadn’t given enough already. As if she wouldn’t give herself entirely, though she couldn’t possibly understand what something like that meant.) Her little spindle legs unfolded from underneath her, tired already of the pebbled river shore and how it bit into her skin. There was the quiet clatter of stones being displaced, and the scuffling of her hooves as they dug into the sand and pushed her up, but most prominent was the lullaby of the rushing water behind them. Cheri shook out her short tail and studied herself for a moment, contemplative.
“What happened to you Targaryen?” She asked him, looking up again. “Why were you in the river?”
She's not sure why she wants to know, because if the answer was volatile it would concern her. Why on earth would he want to fight? And who on this earth would want to fight him? Cheri is still young but she knows - oh she knows - that her heart is light and good, a dangerous thing to be in a place filled with so much evil. She looks up at Targaryen and doesn't see a horse capable of such darkness, but neither does she see herself as a vindicator or dispenser of justice. If his injury was self-sustained from battle it would... well it would downright confuse her. Targaryen's life had been worth saving. She felt weak and parched, wholly numb from the experience of healing him and using her powers for the very first time, but she didn't feel regret over the matter. Cheri hoped (with her ears fluttering) that she had been right to do such a thing, and not wrong for saving a horse who might only do more harm than good.
And like a ray of warm sunshine, Targaryen calms her innate fears. Her breath hitches; Cheri sucks on her lips to keep from sobbing again and blinks her eyes, nodding silently that she understood.
“I’m Cheri.” She told him, eager to exchange more of herself (as if she hadn’t given enough already. As if she wouldn’t give herself entirely, though she couldn’t possibly understand what something like that meant.) Her little spindle legs unfolded from underneath her, tired already of the pebbled river shore and how it bit into her skin. There was the quiet clatter of stones being displaced, and the scuffling of her hooves as they dug into the sand and pushed her up, but most prominent was the lullaby of the rushing water behind them. Cheri shook out her short tail and studied herself for a moment, contemplative.
“What happened to you Targaryen?” She asked him, looking up again. “Why were you in the river?”
She's not sure why she wants to know, because if the answer was volatile it would concern her. Why on earth would he want to fight? And who on this earth would want to fight him? Cheri is still young but she knows - oh she knows - that her heart is light and good, a dangerous thing to be in a place filled with so much evil. She looks up at Targaryen and doesn't see a horse capable of such darkness, but neither does she see herself as a vindicator or dispenser of justice. If his injury was self-sustained from battle it would... well it would downright confuse her. Targaryen's life had been worth saving. She felt weak and parched, wholly numb from the experience of healing him and using her powers for the very first time, but she didn't feel regret over the matter. Cheri hoped (with her ears fluttering) that she had been right to do such a thing, and not wrong for saving a horse who might only do more harm than good.
@[Targaryen] I stg if i keep misspelling his name you have every right to verbally smack me