and he keeps waking up
but it's not to the sound of birds
but it's not to the sound of birds
The unicorn is all too aware of the equine tailing along behind him, attempting to keep up. Grey is not kind enough to slow, shouldering his way through the streets without glancing back. ”I am always looking for more information,” the other man says and he cannot help the slight roll of his snow-white eyes. Yes, always butting into other people’s business and poking one’s nose where it doesn’t belong is the best way to make friends.
Grey bites his tongue instead of speaking his mind. In truth, the unicorn is impressed that this stranger is the first to ask him about the blue tint of his skin, the crystals clinging to every curve that sparkle subtly in the sun. Surely others must have been curious about it, he imagines it’s not often someone goes wandering around looking as though they’re made of ice.
He grinds his teeth and clenches his jaw as he contemplates what to say.
Or whether to say anything at all.
“There is nothing medical about what is wrong with me,” Grey cuts out sharply, even as there is a twinge of guilt in his stomach. Amaranthus’ magic had saved his life but hadn’t been able to return him perfectly to what he was before. And it had left its mark on him too, the runs etched into his skin on the right side of his neck; often hidden beneath his mane.
The only thing that hurts about the frosted touch of his skin is the dark truth that led him to that day on the mountaintop in the snow. Grey eventually comes to a stop, his muscles taught and rigid, his eyes farther away than even than mountain, or the god he had met upon it. “Once, someone had to use magic to save my life. This is how it left me.”
@Lasairian I'm sorry this is so late
