[mature] bro, i'm straight up not having a good time

[Tarian]

There is a myriad of scars across Tarian's gray pelt.

Some tell the stories of youth, of sibling scrapes and arguments when he and Liam had far too much time.

Some tell the stories of the years that came after Paraiso and the loss of Culloden. Of a young stallion who fought anyone and anything because there was no longer a family to fight for.

And some tell the stories of now: of the Alliance. Of the Darkness.

He is littered with them and while the white pegasus tries to keep his coat as close to gleaming as he can, the dark scars slash their stories across his hide. But he doesn't mind. Each one has been earned and each one has given the Loessian a sense of purpose. Tarian may no longer be the surly youth who had quipped barbed words at strangers or the young officer trying to make rank among the Guards of Liridon, but each one tells a story of where he has been and reminds him that shapeless monsters are just another chapter. The sun will come again, he knows.

There will be someone else to fight.
There will always be another war.

The pale pegasus tries to regain some of his propriety as he lifts his head and looks at the stranger. The wound on his shoulder is deep - will certainly a scar - but it is not life-threatening. And the other stallion does not indicate that pain is something beyond his bearing. He handles it rather admirably, Tarian thinks. His gray brow furrows and his dark lips purse in a frown. His fighting companion admits that he played host to one and his blue eyes cut sharply across the dark to where the other stallion stands.

"You...?" he asks, almost incredulous. A silver-tipped ear flicks towards one direction while Tarian remains glancing in the other, to @[Ashhal]. "Is that how these wretched things got here?" says the winged Loessian.

He can't be responsible for all of them but it answers at least one question that Tarian had regarding the shadow creatures.

Tarian grunts another question. "How didn't it kill you?"