[private] Boy of Fire [Warrick]

[Warrick]

we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight

“Your father was a good man.”

There is a solemnity in Warrick’s eyes that is unmistakable, a reverence that overcomes his entire stature - still and unwavering, yet soft in the way he remembers his dear friend who had been taken from the world far too soon.

But legacies continue, and Diable Rouge’s blood continues on within Phoebus; the idea allows a gentle smile to fall across Warrick’s once stern face, the corners of his cobalt lips turning upwards. The boy (though not so much a boy anymore) has called to the Overseer for one of the most loyal and brave things that Warrick can think of, for one so young. The osprey-king smiles easily, a slow nod given to Phoebus in a gesture of understanding.

“As long as you are willing to learn, you will never fail, Phoebus; not truly, anyway.” There is a glimmer of laughter in the stallion’s cerulean gaze, sparkling with the magma below them and the fire that dances on the red roan’s hide. Warrick curiously watches the armor, lifting his chin slightly to get a closer look, though staying a good distance away so that he would not singe his flesh. He had been badly burned by the volcano once in his life - thankfully Amorette had healed him - but the scar is still there, dull and barely noticable on his chest, but there. He is ever cautious now, with the fire and the lava, for it is known to be unpredictable.

Like battle.

He snorts softly, thoughtfully, as he reminisces his battle with Kagerus. An armor like Phoebus’ would have been helpful (any defensive barrier, to be honest) and Warrick already can see that the younger stallion has a slight advantage with his ability. “Beqanna has blessed you with a gift. Before you can protect anyone, you first must understand your power. If you understand it, you can use it. Explain it to me. Is it always there? Can it be controlled? Turned off? Made hotter?”

Warrick

@[Phoebus]