Simple lies, strange eyes; Ajatar, Longclaw

[Longclaw]

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

Longclaw faintly remembers that Ajatar had been saying something. Listening, however, had been a bit harder, considering the fact that his eyes had closed quite permanently from the excitement and left him to slump unceremoniously back to the earth. Ajatar’s gift fumbles to release him, the damage beyond mortal repair, but still his breath comes in ragged strokes. Why does he choose now to fight, of all times? It would have been a painful death - the sting of his wounds is hellish raw - still he would have welcomed this end as opposed to the one that lay in wait years from this moment.

Whatever the reason, he blinks awake when the first tendrils of mist billow out across his face. The sensation is invigorating, like being warm and yet simultaneously chilled, and Longclaw inhales the heavy matter deeply to let it fill his innards. Exhaling leaves him feeling alive in the sense, but he’s not whole or untouched as he was when he left the safety of the arena. His stomach, where the skin had peeled from rot and dropped blackened to the earth, feels tight with the new growth of skin. It’s dark, like his points, and interrupts the glimmer over his ribs on either side of his body.

Marked- he’s marked now. 

Searching for answers his bright green eyes find Corva instead; he smiles gently, raises a head to right his vision, and quips, “Never thought I’d have to thank a child for keeping me alive …” before his legs work stiffly to lift him up again. Instinctually he coughs but blood doesn’t follow this time, the little healer has done her work fully. His gaze smarts, attention turning to Ajatar with a mixture of incredulous wonder and newfound respect.

“Should we … talk?” He asks, easing forward on weak legs. It’s an empty gesture of sorts; he’s got no idea what she’d even want to talk about, even though her connection to the characters involved in Longclaw’s life seems eerily similar. Perhaps he’s just trying to be nice. A glance around the dark mare serves to inform him that Wyrm has gone - vanished as he’s so renowned for. “Not forever.” The exhausted stallion thinks, “Not forever.”

Remembering Corva, the little spotted girl, he tilts a curious head back in her direction to finish his earlier statement: “A ‘thank you’ is in order, though. Tephra could use talent like yours - what’s your name?”

@[Ajatar] @[corva]