Bragi
Time heals all wounds, or at least that's what they say. How much time, though, that is not said. For good reason. Despite himself, his external injuries had long since healed, hastened by Amorette's magic. While the skin of his shoulder was taught and new, it did not ache as it once had. In place of torn and bitten flesh, now was a silvery-pink scar. Yes, his body was next to new. Yet he was constantly plagued with migraines, which he had learned stemmed from the crystalline spire that had been forcing it's way from his skull these last few months. Yet another cruel joke, to be sure. Added to the fact that he still could not see.
In fact, he was giving up hope of ever seeing again. It was a crutch now. His excuse to stay here, to not seek Hod. How could he, when he could barely put one hoof in front of the other without stumbling? It made, sense, didn't it? Not much did anymore, largely due to the fact that he wasn't sleeping hardly at all these days. It was hard, with leering faces and bloodied corpses ready to leap out in his dreams. He was a prisoner of his own mind. And maybe a part of him liked it that way.
There was a spring. It was warm, no matter how cold the air surrounding got. He could spend hours in it, warm and relatively relaxed. It smelled of sulphur, like everything else did here. The scent had become comforting to him. It was sharp, and real. Grounding. It was where he stood now. Belly deep in just tolerably hot water, the gold and pale stallion dozed. He was tired, as usual. Yet, sleep felt miles away.
A yawn stretched his jaw. Warrick lead this land, and he knew he'd have to meet him eventually. He had been living on his land, drinking his water, and eating his grass these long months, after all. But no. He'd been essentially a hermit, visited only occasionally by the one who brought him here. Amorette. He had decided she was beautiful, though he had no way of confirming this. Who else but a beautiful angel would tolerate his changeable moods, his sometimes questionable grasp on reality? He hoped, as he did every day, that today she would visit him. The voices in his head were becoming tiresome company.
You are the safest way into tomorrow
@[Amorette]