Don't be stupid He flinches back from the harsh words and for a moment he wonders if she's heard anything he's said. Her words answer his, and yet there is a dissonance. As though she has heard the words but has not understood the meaning. She has changed the context of their conversation. He draws back, hooves dancing uneasily on the sand. The thin strands of his pale tail lash, but he can't get rid of the electricity racing through his veins. His thoughts gain momentum, barely caught behind the dams of his teeth, allowing her the space to speak, the space to express her side though to him it does not strike at the heart of the matter. It is shallow, picking at the words he uses and not at the meaning they represent. Nor can he tell if it is deliberate or if it is only that he has failed to communicate his purpose. His mind worries over the words he said and her response, trying to see if he could have said it better. It stalls his response, dividing his mind in two.
She seems unshakable. It feels a little as though he is speaking into the empty desert, words falling on the unfeeling, deaf sands. Further, her attitude disturbs him though he can't quite pinpoint why. "That is not the kind of faith we were talking about. I agree wholeheartedly that trust in other herd members to do their duty and do what is best is important to keep things working. To keep everyone well. That is not the same thing." He takes a step back from her when her hips swings towards him, only belatedly noting the scar she seems to be showing. Eyes bright as heart-fire look from it to her face, not understanding. What glory is there in that? In the marks of violence that mar the symmetry of her body. He remembers faintly some mention of a hunt from the meeting but he doesn't recall it's purpose. Was there one?
"If Solis provides the fruits of the desert, why do we bring soil and seeds from other lands? On that line of reasoning, then those who cannot sustain themselves on the bounty of the desert should be allowed to starve." The thought offends him- it is not how he was raised. His people had helped each other and strangers even, showing them how to find the secret waters and feed that the desert provided if you knew enough to find it. The implications of what Bexley has said disturb him as his mind chases them down different trails of logic. He looks away from her, a hard snort escaping his wide nostrils as he tries to martial his thoughts.
"How do you know?" He asks after a slight pause. It isn't an accusation. The question is quiet, genuinely curious.
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