the ghost of a girl that i want to be mostthe shell of a girl i used to know well
Camelia isn’t sure what his condition is. She wonders if he might be having difficulty in his mind, rather than his outward body. Every soul she meets has some amount of dark patches sewn into their hearts – some more than others. Sometimes those patches might be rotting away, a disease causing chaos to ensue inside their minds. Sometimes those patches are eaten away because of an event in their life. Camelia knows herself that the wildfires in the Gates left a hazy spot in her mind which left her riddled with nightmares of fire and heat and suffocating from smoke.
Nonetheless, Camelia attempts to assess this stallion’s situation to the best of her medical ability (which, truth be told, isn’t a whole lot of ability). When he coughs, she shifts her ears in another sign of almost motherly worry. The instincts of a mother to her foal are strong in Camelia, especially with her own baby back home. Paired with her high amount of empathy, the dunskin is nearly dancing – in a figurative manner – around the stallion trying to help him. Her outer composure is one of grace and calm.
The stallion moves to stand and Camelia graciously steps closer in order to lend her slender figure to aid him. He wobbles and tilts like a foal still unsure about their hooves, but the ex-queen manages to steady him easily with her own frame. Although she is clearly womanly in the physical sense (slender and with womanly curves and delicate features that caress her face), she is still strong enough to help this stallion to his feet.
He suddenly asks his first question and it is a clue to what he knows. Which is, in short, nothing about Beqanna. With a deep sniff, Camelia notes he doesn’t smell of Beqanna, but rather from the outside. His scent is lathered in unfamiliar places underneath the sharp, salty tang of blood from his cuts. Camelia’s voice is gentle once more as she replies. “You’re in Beqanna. This gathering place here is called the field.” She doesn’t bother loading him with deep information about the field. He doesn’t seem mentally strong enough to gather and keep such knowledge.
So instead, she begins with simple things. “My name is Camelia. What is yours?”
camelia
