The Deserts is another thing they have in common. Unlike Felinae though, Zeik was raised on the outskirts of the scorching sands until he left his mother. He suspects though that it’s harder for a mare - especially one who is so willing to trust and see the good in the world. Zeik has seen his share of kindness and monstrosity, but he likes to think that the goodness in life outweighs the bad. Especially when Felinae presses her nose against him in the way that she does. He unconsciously leans into the sensation, rumbling somewhere in his chest with contented pleasure.
“I’m sorry to hear that Felinae. I never knew my father either.” He comments, following the gurgling river. It wasn’t uncommon for the sire to be some sort of ghost in this place - Zeik wouldn’t know his father even if he was standing face-to-face with him. But it wasn’t the bloodline that made the man, it was how he chose to live his life. Zeik looks softly at Felinae then, knowing he’s made a good choice. “My mother was a bay roan, with gigantic bubblegum pink wings.” He tells her, laughing softly. “When I was a colt and I misbehaved, she used to stretch out one wing and knock me straight over.”
Celestina had never hurt him, but she’d been a strict parent. Zeik was grateful for this, however, because she’d prepared him for the world the best she could. She had always known he wouldn’t stay and Zeik had never felt bad about leaving her. That mare was a tough old bird. He thinks about this place, their home, and decides to talk of other important matters. “It won’t just be us here.” He says, slowing to a halt near a large stone bridge that stretched precariously over the river. “There are other mares who need a safe place to call home too.” He says, hoping that Felinae will understand.
This doesn’t mean she’ll be forgotten, or even looked over. It just means that she won’t be so terribly alone in this giant forest. He moves ahead, crossing the bridge carefully and testing its strength. “Safe.” He thinks as he reaches the other side. He waits patiently for her, his precious bluebird, and watches over her for any indication of sadness.
Z E I K
-everything we are and used to be is buried and gone-