[open] though rapt in the ruin; any

[breach]

for so long had my teeth held my tongue from a venomous voice
but the poison has passed from my lips to my hands, an incendiary point

The conversation veers in a direction that is more pleasant for Breach and although she still feels sharp-edged, volatile, and still hunting for a release of the tension that plagues her, she does her very best to shake it from herself. This mare had not stolen her from her land. She had not torn her limb from limb. She had not made the mistakes that Breach had made—had ruined her life with in so many ways.

It was not her fault.

And although Breach was not always logical, she does try to be somewhat fair.

So she swallows back all of the retorts and insults she would fling her way and instead falls silent for a moment, doing her best to gather her thoughts and speak more evenly. She shifts, rolling her athletic shoulders. “Then we have something in common,” she is pleased that her voice sounds friendlier.

Or at least less outright mean.

The mare before her feels the opposite in so many ways that it felt almost disingenuous to claim any kind of common ground, but Breach knows better than to judge someone on the surface. She studies her a little closer at the offer of helping. “I’m not sure that help is what I need,” a lie if she had ever heard one, “but I am always open to hearing ideas that someone may have.” An attempt at a smile, small as it may be.

“My name is Breach.”

though ritual pyre sending smoke to the sky as the building continues to burn
though rapt in the ruin, the pain in the grave, is lies you leave tied to the earth