Abrus
Abrus allowed time to continue to pass by him as he cycled between the now-familiar woods of the Forest and Chamber. He was still trying to learn how things worked here in Beqanna and the environment had been a much easier puzzle to solve, thanks to his affinities, than that of the population. It seemed peaceful enough, though he suspected that meant there was a bloody past.
He doesn't remember if there was a time where he had been good at conversation. He doesn't remember his youth, what he had been as a child, or even his parents.
Sometimes this is troublesome, but Abrus doesn't bother trying to delve into any of that. If he has forgotten something, he reasons, it was for a reason.
So any lessons on how to start a conversation have been lost, encouraging the grullo stallion to get creative.
It's late afternoon in the forest, the shadows under the trees growing cold as the sunlight begins to slip away. He finds what he is seeking by the base of a cluster of pines, the needle-litter sending up wafts of fragrant air as he disturbs it with his hooves. The branching, wooden antlers he usually sports are small today — and they twist and bend to avoid getting tangled with any branches as he moves about. His companion rests on a low, dead and broken branch of one of the pines — their eyes a matching glowing white as they share their vision.
Abrus does not need to see for this but he finds he wants to anyway.
He is not too deep into the forest, and finds that he is hoping someone will come along and wonder what he is up to as he reaches down into the soil with his magic and begins to tug on the bones he finds there, bringing them up to the surface.
He doesn't remember if there was a time where he had been good at conversation. He doesn't remember his youth, what he had been as a child, or even his parents.
Sometimes this is troublesome, but Abrus doesn't bother trying to delve into any of that. If he has forgotten something, he reasons, it was for a reason.
So any lessons on how to start a conversation have been lost, encouraging the grullo stallion to get creative.
It's late afternoon in the forest, the shadows under the trees growing cold as the sunlight begins to slip away. He finds what he is seeking by the base of a cluster of pines, the needle-litter sending up wafts of fragrant air as he disturbs it with his hooves. The branching, wooden antlers he usually sports are small today — and they twist and bend to avoid getting tangled with any branches as he moves about. His companion rests on a low, dead and broken branch of one of the pines — their eyes a matching glowing white as they share their vision.
Abrus does not need to see for this but he finds he wants to anyway.
He is not too deep into the forest, and finds that he is hoping someone will come along and wonder what he is up to as he reaches down into the soil with his magic and begins to tug on the bones he finds there, bringing them up to the surface.