Gale
this is going to break me clean in two --
this is going to bring me close to you
Melancholy reminiscence is not at all what the Curse had been hoping for. Heartbreak, betrayal, death; those are the preferred components of a story, and Ciri’s has none of those.
She hadn’t even cried.
How boring.
The resting expression of the brindle’s stallion’s face is curiosity, so the Curse has not had to strain itself to give the black mare the impression that he is interested in her dull tale. At her question, it nods, as much in relief that it is over as it is in an answer.
She does think about him a lot.
“Have you ever seen the future?” It asks, the abrupt change of subject not at all unusual for Gale. The Curse is thinking of the burning pine tree and the visions that sometimes come with inhaling the smoke. Perhaps it might take Ciri there, and maybe she’ll even see something terrible!
The Curse looks up at the edges of the mountains, where the sun is beginning to sink. Gale's protestations grow weaker as the twilight deepens, his efforts to save Ciri abandoned in the attempt to hold onto his sanity as the Curse applied ever more pressure. In the rising darkness, the soft glow of Gale's cremello scars and markings begin to appear, a soft and steady light.
Ciri's stars, too, grow brighter as the night approaches. A pretty trick, but ultimately too likely to draw attention. If the Curse were ever to kill her, it would be sure to avoid her heart in its feast.
@[Ciri]
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