She'd felt that pain before- the type that leaves you paralyzed on the ground, vulnerable to the world's cruelest beings. The type of pain that throbs in the gut, deep and warm in only the least pleasant way possible. Easily, the mare can imagine the thick blood oozing from his body in the drops, splattering the slick, frozen ice that surrounds them, blackening quickly as the air glides over the crimson puddles. A chill runs down her spine at the thought of it. Should this pain wane soon, he should be more mobile, but for now and if it ever returns, he would be rendered once again vulnerable to the plentiful tragedies the Rift has to bestow on those who rest helpless and unprotected.
Truly mysterious men- their motives remain hidden and hence the allure. They have a stand-offish quality that dares contact without inviting it. They are independent and casual, nonchalant and slow to temper, analyzing situations with ease. They are kind but don't form emotional attachments often. The golden maiden would have pegged him as intriguingly mysterious until he began speaking- the drama behind his movements and voice set her on edge and the awkward conversation did little to ease this. Despite verbally desiring to be in solitude, everything he did screeched 'give me company' and it was unusual to the nine-year-old. She could only assume his narcissism still surpassed his pain and this was why he rebuffed a medic, an absurd blunder that could sequentially cost him his life.
The frosty air flooded her face and writhed beneath her pinions and fur even in the protection of the grotto, spreading across her skin like elegant lace. Puckering her velvet lips and pressing her wings more firmly against her flank, she muses about what he has stated and after a few seconds pass she retaliates with a hushed, disbelieving chortle that blooms in her breast and spills from her lips in euphonious fluctuations. The sound fills the diminutive cave with ease. "Mhhmmmm," she offers plainly in acknowledgment of his words, her optics raking his body over, investigating what precisely has occurred to him. "A tip," She begins softly, a reasonably vague expression depicted on her porcelain features. "Perhaps learn how to protect yourself."
Advancing towards him, she lowers her muzzle to the ground. The whiskers adorning her snout stroke the ground softly as she continues shifting nearer. Striving to graze her muzzle against him just to prove how exposed he is, she lets out one definitive statement- "You're all too vulnerable right now."
The Heimasborg
pick a fight and then lose it
