theres an old man sitting on a throne thats saying...
Warrick, more than anyone she had ever met, reminded her of Sakir. He didn’t argue with her like Amet would, and he didn’t beat her like the King would.
Iset is impressed.
He acts almost as though he wishes to comfort her in her fear, but once again respects the distance between them and does not close it. The metallic filly narrows her eyes and studies the older horse shamelessly, finding exhaustion and sadness rather than malevolence present in their navy depths.
His gentle gaze holds a faraway look, and Iset can’t help but wonder where his mind wandered. Iset’s own amber eyes dive into his, curious if she could see the reflection of his desires .
She couldn’t, and it seemed that even Warrick himself couldn't pinpoint exactly what he was searching for.
He combats her biting words with an unconcerned smile. He surprises her once again by agreeing with her; his words simple but the meaning behind them felt deeper than the streams that streaked across the meadow. She cocks her thin head and scrutinizes the stallion as she processes the wise words that leave his cobalt mouth.
She nods cautiously at the truth in his words and sucks in a deep breath as he takes a step towards her. She watches him warily as he ducks his head to graze, not moving or breathing until he speaks again.
“No,” she responds curtly. “Anyone I would want to see…” she trailed off. They were ghosts. Lost to the past and living on only in her memory. “It wouldn’t be an option,” she finished shortly. “What about you?” she questioned, deciding to put the weight of the conversation back on his shoulders, “Who have you lost, Warrick?” Her question was blunt and rude, but she didn’t like feeling this vulnerable with someone she had only just met.
...I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut