the darkest nights produce the brightest stars
Fennick was unreasonably proud of doing what most people managed without even trying. His form, while not completely solid, is not just mildly viscous. It is a victory of the most pathetic of proportions, but a victory none the less. While he still had teeth solid enough to eat grass, Fennick began to gobble the summer foliage as fast as he could. At this rate, he might not get another meal for a while, and it would be just his luck to die of starvation.
That was how his new friend found him. When the other stallion appeared, almost on top of him, Fennick grunted audibly, then turned less solid and felt bits of his limbs trickle off in various directions. It took him a moment to collect himself, (literally, he had to collect himself) and when he had finished the other stallion looked more composed, or at least, he was a little farther away.
“No, it’s quite all right.” Fennick said it with a weary acceptance, as if his life had been until now, and probably would be forever more, a series of awkward, unfortunate encounters. Yet, as Fennick took stock of the situation, his countenance brightened considerably.
Wait…that time the other guy had been weird. Fennick had been an innocent bystander. He looked at the newcomer with renewed, vigorous interest. Yes! He did seem rather weird. Weird and pretty, which just made him weirder because he wasn’t a woman. And had he teleported? While teleporting was weird, it was weirder that he couldn’t seem able to control it. Fennick just about screamed with delight.
“Wow!” He said enthusiastically.
“And I thought I had problems.” Fennick, had he been thinking clearly, would probably have realized that this was abominably, unforgivably rude. But he wasn't thinking clearly. His brain was considerably less solid than usual, more gooey than spongey, and he would bet money that it was affecting is cognitive functioning. At least, that’s what he would keep insisting.
“I’m Fennick.” He was still enthusiastic, but he was less manically so. At least Rhonan gave him something else to think on, rather than his own, no doubt inevitable, demise. Fennick’s leading theory was that he was dying. There was no way this was normal, and if Fennick knew anything, he knew that turing into a liquid was fatal. It just seemed like common sense. But, so long as there was someone to ask, Fennick may as well try to get some answers before he expired.
“Did you find a little ball in the woods as well? Because, I don’t think you’re supposed to open those —” Fennick trailed off, for he heard how ridiculous he sounded. He sounded like a crazy person, but was it any less crazy then what was happening to them?