gaza
Gaza doesn’t mind babbling; he’d grown up with Zilpah for a caretaker, and Lord, that girl could talk herself from the Tundra to the Desert if someone let her. With his sister, it was an effort to be friendly and learn about another; with this one, it seems to stem from somewhere else. Some place riddled with bad memories and fear. It is something he could not heal, not even with kindness (and kindness can kill too; it slays the evil, though evil tends to return, like some insidious, inherent virus).
I suppose that, like any hot-blooded young male, his desire to help is tied to an inexplicable attraction to the silver mare. She wears her despair like a niqab, allowing only the quiet, subtle beauty of her skin to shine through. It was this (and he’s sure she gets this all the time) that called him over - and the unnatural, ethereal stillness with which she stood. Perhaps it is the Yael, or the Vanquish in him (or both - both were protectors) that makes Gaza want to drape his neck over hers and draw her closer and simply hold her until she falls asleep. What he wants is rooted in innocence and tainted with testosterone, but that is something that he can hold back.
He is, after all, Good Guy Gaza.
He shifts his weight from one side to the other, watching the silver mare with quiet intention and soft eyes. “Don’t apologize, Cordis,” (he tastes her name, and it is sweet and sour in his mouth), “I’m Gaza.” He pauses and then tries to delicately proceed. “Is there any way we could try and get her… back? I’m pretty strong…” Nevermind that he doesn’t know a single thing about fighting, or that his He she speaks of is far more powerful than even his Ima.
He doesn't know it would be a suicide mission.
vanquish x yael