The lad would never receive an answer to his question.
But that was okay, because Raglan forgot the entirety of his question to the ancient guardian approximately two seconds after the soft words fell from darkened lips.
Rags? Whats going on, buddy?
The Silvertongue froze, his muscles tensing as if time had stopped, as if he was nothing more than a Shagbark Sentinel that had returned to a timeless slumber. He felt himself blink, he felt himself breathe, he felt the pulsing of his bruised heart within the prison of his ribs. He blinked again, harder this time, blurring the world before him with the force behind the small movement. Raglan knew that voice just as well as he knew his own, just as well as he knew the scent that was drifting across the space between him and his brother-in-arms.
Again, he blinked.
The Orphaned Crow had to be sure that the world was real, that the figure he was about to turn to was real - flesh and bone and blood, not just a bittersweet memory.
Raglan swallowed and moved his pale eyes up from the palm of the colossus, stopping only when his gaze reached the eyeless face of the sentinel. Breathing slowly through his nostrils, the bloodied bay felt his jaw clench at the overwhelming familiarity of his comrade's scent. It had to be real, didn't it? The gods wouldn't be that cruel, would they? To allow one of their ancient, magical, ridiculously powerful guardsmen to awaken an serve the lanky rogue with a gift, only to manifest a specter from the past?
There was only one way to know, wasn't there?
Slowly the bay pegasus turned, opal eyes searching the near distance for that mottled black and sunburst coat. For the crooked grin and the mischievous gaze. For his Brother Crow.
"Acton?"
Raglan couldn't quite believe the sight, despite how desperately he wanted to. It would be too friendly of a coincidence, too kind of an ending to his pain, to be reunited with the pyromaniac that he had kept as his nearest friend. Despite the disbelief, though, the Silvertongue still couldn't quite fight the grin that had started to creep over his lips; for even if the boy - no, the stallion, the fully-grown, self possessed, stallion - that stood before him was just a ghost out of a memory, the Crow had never been able to look at his comrade without joy.
"It's you, yeah? Not some magic made up by the Tree-Guy over here?" Raglan motioned absently with a wing toward the crouched form of the Sentinel at his back, wondering if the ancient creature would fall back to rest in that position. "And to answer your question, the Sentinel isn't the aggressor. I started it - per usual."
@Acton smooches
