He doesn’t mention why the world is so unforgiving, only that it is. He doesn’t explain that the sight of her, whereas it inspires hope and purpose in Ramiel, likely will inspire fear and revulsion in others. He doesn’t tell her that their world thinks little of that amount of difference, that they will sooner cast stones than kind words towards someone like her. It’s not fair; it’s not right. It’s the hard way of things, though.
He fears that it’s a lesson she’ll learn soon enough without his input, anyway.
For now, at least, he can shelter her. As the grey stallion watches the change from death to life (or rather most of the change) draw startled happiness upon her face, it erases some of the worry from his own. What must it feel like to take that first breath in new lungs? What does the air taste like here, recycled and shared as it is between the living – not the stale vacuum of the afterlife? That heart must be a wonder, too. He’d glimpsed it for a second before the tissue pulled over it like a blanket, as raw and angry and fragile as anything he’s seen before. Does the pulse of it make her frantic? Does each beat sound to her like a step closer to the afterlife she’s just come from? An alarm set for an unknown time – a driving force that sustains for only so long.
Graveling says she is wonderful, and it is enough to pull his lips into another smile. For her sake, though, he hopes the growth will continue. He hopes she’ll grow like all children do, that she’ll grow and live and be happy for as long as she can. He wants her to know life, real life, despite her late start amongst those who breathe. He wants it for her - not because she deserves it (because who is he to judge her soul) – because he’d made a promise he means to keep. "I'll take you to her whenever you want," he says quietly, knowing she'll understand. He can't imagine what it must be like for her, can't imagine the loss of his own mother just at the starting line of it all. Whatever he can do, Ramiel will.
The once-dead girl agrees to go with him, touching him with her mottled, rotting flesh. It’s soft and light against his skin; he can feel the warmth already emanating from her. This close, Ramiel swears he can see the threads of muscles slowly knitting together along her shoulder. “If you say so,” he grins easily when she insists on his magical abilities. He brushes the top of her neck gently with his muzzle, feeling the rough edges of barely-concealed vertebrae. He finds himself already used to her grisly appearance, already absorbed in his newfound role as a guardian. “My kingdom awaits, Graveling.” The stallion gestures towards a path into the woods. The sooner they can leave, the less chance that prying and disapproving eyes will find them.
Ramiel
ghost king of the dale