08-24-2021, 09:23 PM
“You gotta bleed on it,” Malik explains, gesturing broadly in the direction of the three entities. One of them requires bleeding on, he’s sure of it. He’s just not sure if it’s the statue of the mare? Or the burning tree?
His gesturing had ended as his eyes settled on the flames. His heart continues to race in his chest, but his hooves have grown leaden as the pair of them approach the entities. Malik’s dark ears turn to catch Raum’s words, but he is not really paying attention.
Malik’s eyes are fixed on the stone replica of his seventh great-grandmother. Though the colt is not yet two, he is already taller than the pony-sized mare. She is the one that asks for blood, he realizes. Her shoulders, though made of the same dappled granite as the rest of her, are stained a deep red. The scent of iron ore and old blood grow stronger as he moves to stand beside the statue.
He glances into the darkness beyond the ring of Straia’s firelight, where he knows the griffon watches. There is no sound, no words at all, and so Malik’s wide gaze flits to Raum.
Worry churns in his belly. This will hurt, and Malik does not like getting hurt. Unlike his parents, the boy heals from wounds slowly. He has promised Gale that he will fix this personal flaw, and this late night visit to the entities is his first attempt to do so.
(If he succeeds, his father might heal the injuries he is sure to sustain, or his mother might have the angels fix him. Eventually though, he’ll be able to heal himself. He’s very sure of this.)
“Do you wanna go first?” He asks hopefully. And then, just because he is prone to worrying and overthinking and general concern: “Or maybe we should steal someone first, just to be sure. In case Anath doesn’t count.”
@Raum*
His gesturing had ended as his eyes settled on the flames. His heart continues to race in his chest, but his hooves have grown leaden as the pair of them approach the entities. Malik’s dark ears turn to catch Raum’s words, but he is not really paying attention.
Malik’s eyes are fixed on the stone replica of his seventh great-grandmother. Though the colt is not yet two, he is already taller than the pony-sized mare. She is the one that asks for blood, he realizes. Her shoulders, though made of the same dappled granite as the rest of her, are stained a deep red. The scent of iron ore and old blood grow stronger as he moves to stand beside the statue.
He glances into the darkness beyond the ring of Straia’s firelight, where he knows the griffon watches. There is no sound, no words at all, and so Malik’s wide gaze flits to Raum.
Worry churns in his belly. This will hurt, and Malik does not like getting hurt. Unlike his parents, the boy heals from wounds slowly. He has promised Gale that he will fix this personal flaw, and this late night visit to the entities is his first attempt to do so.
(If he succeeds, his father might heal the injuries he is sure to sustain, or his mother might have the angels fix him. Eventually though, he’ll be able to heal himself. He’s very sure of this.)
“Do you wanna go first?” He asks hopefully. And then, just because he is prone to worrying and overthinking and general concern: “Or maybe we should steal someone first, just to be sure. In case Anath doesn’t count.”
@Raum*