Time Changes All

R I X E N "It was Kisamoa who brought Halyven here." I answered Watcher calmly. Despite my even tone, I began to question whether the stories were true the moment that Watcher asked what god I was referring to. I knew very little about the lore of this land, other than there was a god or maybe even several gods who were by far more powerful than the other Riftian inhabitants. Upon hearing that Kisamoa ripped lands between worlds, I’d simply taken the story as fact, and it dawned on me that such a rash decision could now make me look foolish. Since this was his home, certainly the stallion would know more about the Rift and whether it was true that Kisamoa had been the one to bring Halyven here. I added to the former statement in a slightly less assured manner, to make it known that I was not a know-it-all, "I do not know that to be fact, of course. Being a newcomer, I have little knowledge of the Riftian gods." I was a foreigner to the Rift and the Rift was foreign to me. For the most part, I was unafraid of things I did not know. Even when I was, that fear was replaced by curiosity. Watcher almost indirectly answered what I’d been wondering. One of the things I’d been wondering. The Rift did have gods, plural - he spoke of the Rift’s dead gods, of how they had been dead for three years and Kisamoa had risen to take their place. To my surprise, he spoke in assumptions, seeming not to know the answer to how Halyven came to be here any better than I did. The Rift was so vast that it was understandable that word did not travel around easily, especially without some form of implemented organization among the horses. In the end, the question at hoof was no matter. It was just a way to make meaningful conversation, and perhaps from here we could continue to bounce our thoughts and questions off of one another, even if we never found any answers. Watcher was a stallion of few words. He weighed each thought and chose the best one, and that I did not mind. This quality made him no less interesting of a character. In fact, it increased my respect for him in a way.  He paused, taking another look around him - around us, at the ruins that looked more ancient than any bone left in the soil. The once smooth stones, the ones that composed the spires and walls, were pitted and scarred. Halyven knew how fleeting time was, how quickly the present could become the past like the important could become the irrelevant. In this hallowed, crumbling city, the trees had seen the centuries blow past in the winds of each season and witnessed the folly of the people’s struggles. Watcher seemed to be taking it all in. He looked thoughtful as his gaze scaled the tallest remaining spire, but it was impossible to tell what he might be thinking. I, too, looked on, taking this opportune silence to admire the city, which was captivating even in its ruined state. Watcher didn’t seem to agree with me on the idea, and I didn’t try to change his mind. I couldn’t make the stranger see Halyven how I did, if he didn’t want to. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, after all.   Word had spread of our meeting at the Pinnacle. Or at least, Watcher had found out about it somehow, and he knew that we’d chosen Halyven as our meeting place. "Indeed. I was there, at the very meeting where it was decided. Like you’ve heard, there will be meetings held here every half-moon, so that we can communicate with one another and perhaps begin to consider agreeing upon a more formalized system. You’re welcome to drop in, if you want. The first meeting here is not too far off." With a smile, I invited him to come to the meetings should he so choose. I was skeptical that he’d accept, though. He did not seem like the sociable type.  I watched the mechanical spider as it crawled up across his dust-colored hide. "How did you-" I began, before the stallion remarked that he’d noticed the question that had appeared across my features and vanished nearly as fast as we talked. "Oh, right, I was. You see-" I took a larger breath, collecting my thoughts. My gaze hadn’t left the spider, which moved as fluidly as if it were alive. In a way, with the help of magic, it was. "You like crafting things?" I finally began, thinking about where to go with this. One question at a time.  "Talk." they heard me singing and they told me to stop quit these pretentious things and just punch the clock

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It's all good :D