The feathers of his wings ruffle gently as another pregnant pause swells before them, but he is not frustrated or impatient, for he suspects that her experience may not have been any easier than his. At the beginning of their interaction, he had easily perceived the restraint that dominates her every action, and when she finally speaks, the carefulness that coats her words is just as apparent. It mirrors his own natural temperance, so he does not mind it, let alone take offense as some might. He also shares in her discomfort at the introspection his query had forced her into. These are the mental changes to which he refers because, much like Famkee, Assailant has no desire to face his own demons.
He does not notice that she seems unable to meet his eye, for his own head had already turned away so that he does not have to meet hers. She speaks of selfishness, a relatable motive he had found in himself when he’d thought about why he’d entered the portal in the first place, though he wonders if she regards her reason as shallow as he finds his own. She continues on and that is when he knows the answer to his internal question. No, there was something deeper that sat in the driver’s seat of her motivation. He wishes he could identify with her in contributing to a positive outcome, ponders what she could mean by changing her own history.
The serene splashing of the nearby stream comes into focus, serving as a soothing salve to the squalling in his mind. This brings a calm that allows his gaze to return to her. He is again struck by the strange beauty she presents, but he is mildly surprised to realize that his parched soul holds no thirst for possession of her autonomy. Another piece in the puzzle of his self-discovery, another thread of his person unraveling as he watches helplessly. Well, perhaps it is not the worst thing to happen in a world that has abandoned the only lifestyle he’s ever known. Even more peculiarly, he finds himself interested in learning who this mare is inside, though it seems she may not be as sure of herself as she may have been before.
While she may feel no compulsion to lay everything bare to be picked at like a rotted carcass by unfeeling vultures, he brings the idea into consideration when she asks of his turmoil. Though he has occupied the same space as quite a few people, he has never willingly disclosed much of anything to anyone. The concept of discussion is unfamiliar and daunting, but perhaps it is exactly what he needs, for an outside perspective often gives clarity that may otherwise be left to languish in the murk.
The nuanced revision of her posture produces the desired effect and what tension he had been clinging to scatters like a measure of water sprinkled into a ripping hot pan. ”It is difficult to know where to begin, there are so many berries on the bush.” He pauses. What is the root of this metaphorical bush? ” Somehow, I only added to the panic. I did nothing to comfort those parents because I am little more than a disconnected, pitiless lout.” His expression becomes more knotted, but he presses on. ”I am not who I thought I was, if ever I really knew..”
It is possible that he could continue on for too long, but his own curiosity wins out and he casually tosses the ball back into her court. ”Perhaps, together, we can determine what alterations have been made for you as well. What of your past would need fixing?” He offers no apology for such a bold encroachment of her privacy because he intends for it to stand as an invitation to delve just as deeply into his own.
@Famkee no worries! I'm feeling a little disjointed today, so I get it!