Lior nears the smaller equine with heavy hooves cracked by time and splintered by war. He could heal them, remake them in iron and fire but he does not. he wishes to remain attached to the bedraggled body he has known so long. Ciri's scent is somehow different as it mingles on salt-thick air. She knows he is there but only flicks an ear with a flat voice, asking if it be him or someone named Gale. "Gale?" The name is leaden on his tongue tip as it brings forth no recognition.
Ciri is different now, silhouetted against the tear of sea air. Her voice is low and flattened, she seems defeated with her lack of care of whom could have found her so vulnerable. Lior is not sure what to do, to say. He does as he only knows and moves near her scar mapped hip and presses his nose to her warmth and exhales with silver eyes rolled to gauge her expression. He knows he could easily be struck but it does not concern him. His skin is dragon scale if he should wish it. "What are you thinking about?" Low, monotone and gruff. Lior does not know how to be oft and warm...not since Nayl but he remains close with words vibrating against her skin. Should she stroke him, he would bear it, for the mare was hurting within the barred confines of her own mind.
She drifts like morning fog but he remains close even when breaking their contact. Should the little fog mare decide to leap, Lior would snatch her up quickly from the edge of the Isle. Silver eyes watch beneath the thick dark hair, edging away to gain access to her shoulder, having yet to see the fresh plating of scars she bore.
but i can still remember just the way you taste