I'm ready to bleed to make amends
And sleep in this dirt we call our bed
So tell me your secrets
And join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
His moon bathing was disturbed by a voice. He looked toward where the voice was coming from in the dark. She had asked him directly if he was ok. His internal struggle and conditioning urged him to fake indifference and strength. Clearly, he was not ok.
“The volcano erupted in anger, and it’s my fault. My Suffering is deserved.” he replied simply not taking his gaze off the smaller mare. He tried to not let his voice tremble, even this statement at home would have caused further isolation. If the others could sense a weakness they would lean on it, to capitalize from the suffering of another. He didn’t know this mare, he was wary - what if she was lulling him into a false sense of security?
Her wings caught his attention immediately. She was unlike anyone he had ever seen before. The flowers that sprouted her feet made him uneasy. He didn’t understand the rules of his land yet. Or how it worked. Marvelously confusing things happened all around him.
“I’m Aeon, I uh, landed in the dusk court and they have been kind to me. Is that what this place is called? Denocte?” He watched her carefully unsure of whether he should be maintaining a distance or allowing it to be closed. It’s difficult to judge risk and benefits when you don’t fundamentally understand what is possible.
She had wings and offered healing skills she would have been revered in his old herd. Those who could heal others enabled the viscous and insidious culture of warfare that they followed. He had seen pastes and various patches made by older women. But he had never seen a lady sprout flowers from her hooves before…that was something else all together.
ooc: @Caelum
