[private] the ghosts that we knew

[Tarian]

The winged woman snorts and Tarian eyes her pale form, which he has noticed is diminished from their last meeting. Had there been an encounter with one of the creatures, he wonders? He wouldn't deem the white mare frail, not when there is a spark of something still burning behind her color-changing eyes.

She'd probably prefer that he maintain his distance but the shape in the dark sways and the pegasus takes a purposeful stride forward. Those court manners from his previous life emerging in this one. His blue eyes (though she probably won't notice since hers are closed) study her with concern when he finally stops a few paces away. There is something troubling about the way she is breathing, like it is too concentrated, and his days as a soldier emerge again (those memories of horses fainting from bloodloss, collapsing from exhaustion) when he decides to keep her talking, keep her aware - as irritating as she is likely to find it - in the moment.

"No need to swoon in my presence," the pegasus tells her smoothly.

He's baiting her, trying to goad her into awareness. These are troubled times but Tarian can't help but wonder what trouble she has gotten herself into. There are no scars like he has seen on others. It's not even like his time with Ashhal, when a monster had left a deep gouge on the withers of the other pegasus. Despite the exhaustion he senses from Altissima, he can't see any physical wounds or signs of illness (as much as any horse can see these days, anyway). His brow furrows slightly as he reminds himself that even if there were, there was little he could do for the spotted mare.

Other than this. Keeping her awake.

Her head tilts and Tarian decides to keep talking. "Loess gave me a position," he drawls out, expecting her to be as shocked as he had been when Oceane had asked him to become Champion. A far cry from the somber and serious-faced stallion who kept patrol along the Loessian borders. "Ever been?" He asks and tilts his head, waiting for some retort from the fiery female. Most likely not, he thinks, but her exasperation with him is preferable to her passing out.  Hoping to stoke some of that fire, he even grins broadly at her. "You might have heard them talking about me."