[AW] Like Mud-flaps on a Tortoise

[Feliks]

Feliks Like Mud-flaps on a Tortoise "Ah.” He mumbles, too exhausted to hide his disappointment and more than a little demoralized to learn that the winged mare can’t lead him straight to food and rest like he’d hoped. "I guess our only option is to keep walking then.” Resignation rings prominent in his voice, but there’s nothing else to do about it. Staying where they are accomplishes nothing, nor does complaining. Glancing up at the sandstone walls, he sighs and lets his head hang low as he shuffles forward. "I don’t think it would be so unpleasant if it was familiar. The colors and patterns are pretty interesting. I never saw anything like it in my home, or,” He fumbles for the right words, discerning suddenly between the ideas of home as in where he resides and home as in his birthplace, both of which used to fall under the same term. "Where I came from.” He might have let himself dwell on the idea, just this once while fatigue and disorientation undermine his optimism, but the shadow of the mares wing falling across his forequarters draws his attention up and away from his thoughts, a lifeline thrown and gratefully accepted. "Oh!” He perks slightly, scanning the overlapping layers of amber and gold above him, appearing almost to be made of the precious metal when silhouetted by the sun above. "You’re very kind, Aletheia. Thank you." He answers her smile with his own, thin and pained, but no less genuine for the effort it takes to assemble. "I guess I do fluff up pretty early in the season. Winters were harsh where I grew up. Have you heard anything about the snow here? Or anything else about this place? I don't even know what it's called." A scoff escapes him, self-deprecating. How ridiculous for someone once so careful where borders and factions were concerned to go gallivanting into unknown places, unarmed and unequipped to deal with even the smallest adversity. He swallows down the thought that he may have effectively killed himself after all, had he not been fortunate enough to cross paths with another traveler, and then the more sinister thought that they haven't yet escaped the possibilities of starvation and dehydration. Selfishly, he's glad for the company, whatever the outcome. In truth, he's not at all accustomed to being alone, and that almost as much as the hunger and exhaustion has worn on him. He finds himself glancing repeatedly in her direction, reassuring himself in the sight and the smell of her, and prompting her to speak whenever silences fall. He tries to wrap himself in her presence, going so far as endeavoring to match his step to hers, head bobbing lamely every time his ruined leg bears weight. "speech" @Aletheia