Finnian was only vaguely aware of the caretakers ministrations. His eyes were open through the most of it, but his consciousness came and went and announced his presence only as a renewed awareness within the blue, a temporary brightening of the dull gaze before he faded out again. Though he knew they were speaking to him, he could not make sense of the words. The accents sounded strange, almost like a different language entirely, but enough of it passed through his befuddled mind that he could piece together afterwards that he was being cared for, that he had been lucky enough to wash up in a place full of friendly strangers.
It seemed like a very long time passed, but it could not have been more than a few hours that the menders worked on him. By the time he finally managed to stand on his own two feet - wobbly and weak, no more a threat than a newborn foal or perhaps a half-drenched kitten - the sun had burned away the morning dew and beat down upon the cliffs from a sky almost as blue as his own eyes. It was hot against his golden skin, much warmer than the gentle spring glow of his homeland, but Finnian found it comforting. If the seasons were this different, it had to mean he was far from home now, far enough to be safe.
"Thank you" he said, defying the pale tender's instructions not to speak. It hurt, and he sounded like a man who had been drinking hard for weeks upon weeks, but he just had to say it - had to tell them, let them know how grateful he was. "Thank you, thank you..."
It was the only thing he said that day.
In every tyrant a tear for the vulnerable
In every lost soul the bones of a miracle
In every lost soul the bones of a miracle
@Damascus @Rannveig @
