— I'm not here looking for absolution —
Pangea calls to him.
There is something about the wasteland that he is unable to resist. Unable to deny. It drags him forward and all he knows is that something within his wretched heart finds its counterpart in the grey land. There is something about it that is much like the small grey mare that stands at its helm, unassuming but right.
So it is only fitting that the young boy finds his way there with his sister in tow. Only assuming that he takes his place amongst the crowd with a dead bird on his shoulder, its claws digging into the flesh of his shoulder. It hurts, but he grows used to the pain as it goes from ragged and sharp to dull and aching. In a way, he likes it—likes the way that the blood seeps down amongst the constellations and endless black.
He does not say much as he takes his spot, only checking once to make sure Desire has done the same, before his attention moves to the mare. It is rooted there, caught, and he barely notices the rest of what unfolds around them. The other boy about his age hurling his insults or the older mare babbling. The rest of it just fades into the distance as he focuses on Anaxarete and the monstrous creatures behind her.
He could say something, he supposes, although words have never been his strong suit.
Instead he just finds her gaze, holding it for a beat, and then nodding.
It was as close to an agreement as he could find.
