OAKS
you look well suited
like you came to win
Though his curiosity may have been piqued by Zain’s ghoulish display, Oaks cannot help finding himself equally impressed by their fairest companion. Her lightness is soothing and well-beheld; her steadiness is worth praise. He takes a moment to appreciate these facets of the stranger’s presence.
Truthfully, although he is in fact quite old in a linear sense, his psyche itself is relatively immature. Oaks’ years alone have not left him enlightened; he is not a well of thoughtful advice or guidance as other immortals might be. He is sheltered, hermetic, woefully uninformed. His only companions had been the sickly and dying – it should come as no surprise that his social skills are rather lacking. Coupled with his youthful appearance of a colt no more than three years of age, it would be easy to mistake him for a wayward child.
Beyza shows no reaction as his strength visibly fades (he almost wonders, in the back of his mind, whether she may be blind – such composure!), though Oaks notes her withdrawal from Zain’s side as his vision blurs. Even in his hazy eyes, she stands like a beacon.
It’s as he gasps in a shallow breath of air that he feels another sensation, a much gentler touch. If he were to try and describe it, it would be like a tickle at the very ridge of his poll, enough to make an ear twitch back briefly. In his weakened state, he initially presumes it to be another effect of whatever power Zain had impressed upon him, but is surprised to instead hear the mare’s voice speak gently into his mind. She offers her aid and, outwardly, he smiles faintly, reflexively.
I believe I will recover, he answers her back, trying (and failing) to avoid thinking how somehow this seems fitting, his mistreatment. This must be how his own unwieldy powers affected others. Perhaps he deserves to feel it himself.
He tries to lift his head a little further, but finds his body unwilling to respond. But I would welcome some help… if only to keep up with you. He does not specify whether he means to keep up with them both or just with Beyza, primarily because his mind is too muddled to focus much more.
He notes that the mare does not offer them her name and he abruptly feels a bit foolish for having stated his own. She certainly seems wiser than he, playing her cards so carefully as she does. He envies her stoicism in the face of quiet calamity.
Granted, it is difficult to read much emotion in the lines of her pale face, her milky eyes.
“Neither of you have fallen ill yet… I must admit, you’ve already been better company than any I’ve had so far.” He speaks somewhat vaguely, perhaps trying to adopt some of the mystery he perceives in the others, veiled or otherwise. There isn’t much need to explain himself though, lest he worry them and ward them away.
Truthfully, although he is in fact quite old in a linear sense, his psyche itself is relatively immature. Oaks’ years alone have not left him enlightened; he is not a well of thoughtful advice or guidance as other immortals might be. He is sheltered, hermetic, woefully uninformed. His only companions had been the sickly and dying – it should come as no surprise that his social skills are rather lacking. Coupled with his youthful appearance of a colt no more than three years of age, it would be easy to mistake him for a wayward child.
Beyza shows no reaction as his strength visibly fades (he almost wonders, in the back of his mind, whether she may be blind – such composure!), though Oaks notes her withdrawal from Zain’s side as his vision blurs. Even in his hazy eyes, she stands like a beacon.
It’s as he gasps in a shallow breath of air that he feels another sensation, a much gentler touch. If he were to try and describe it, it would be like a tickle at the very ridge of his poll, enough to make an ear twitch back briefly. In his weakened state, he initially presumes it to be another effect of whatever power Zain had impressed upon him, but is surprised to instead hear the mare’s voice speak gently into his mind. She offers her aid and, outwardly, he smiles faintly, reflexively.
I believe I will recover, he answers her back, trying (and failing) to avoid thinking how somehow this seems fitting, his mistreatment. This must be how his own unwieldy powers affected others. Perhaps he deserves to feel it himself.
He tries to lift his head a little further, but finds his body unwilling to respond. But I would welcome some help… if only to keep up with you. He does not specify whether he means to keep up with them both or just with Beyza, primarily because his mind is too muddled to focus much more.
He notes that the mare does not offer them her name and he abruptly feels a bit foolish for having stated his own. She certainly seems wiser than he, playing her cards so carefully as she does. He envies her stoicism in the face of quiet calamity.
Granted, it is difficult to read much emotion in the lines of her pale face, her milky eyes.
“Neither of you have fallen ill yet… I must admit, you’ve already been better company than any I’ve had so far.” He speaks somewhat vaguely, perhaps trying to adopt some of the mystery he perceives in the others, veiled or otherwise. There isn’t much need to explain himself though, lest he worry them and ward them away.
@
Zain @
Beyza