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Tor watched the mare with eyes a mixture of caution and something hidden, something more deep, more forcefully tended to, and to one, perhaps, who knew her well would immediately be on alert, for it is so very rare the giantess would ever hide something- but she is and does. Yet it is something more private, benign to the Edge, even if it looks like she plans something dreadful and is not trained skillfully enough to hide it.
For those few seconds, she does not shift uncomfortably as she so often does, the slightly awkward mare Tor may at times be, even despite her most predominant nature of maturity and kindness. Maybe it had something to do with living with a small herd as a foal, or maybe her upbringing, or maybe it was she was just too kind, and only now did she begin to wonder the wisdom of her actions. The sweet pale mare is not simple-minded exactly, but neither is she terribly wise and clever to speak of- she gets on, she tries not to over-think, and she tries her best to live in the present.
Yes, this mare is one of the Edge, as Tor knows. The mare did suppose she had not worded her request the best. Where had she seen the ebony mare, turned gold and marked cream, before? With Lace, an insistent little voice squeals in the very back of the mare’s mind. Oh. But she didn’t love Lace anymore… not in the way she had. Things didn’t have to be complicated unless she made it. What would Lace think of her joining? What would Destrier? Would Mirage still recognize her? Or had Mirage not even noticed Tor’s desperate attempt to save her?
Just as Tor opens her mouth to speak, to respond to this mare who seems one with the earth and so confident with herself, yet not cocky- will I ever be like that?- a bird dives out of the sky, and Tor starts. But it is not a bird, as the mare’s large, warm ocher, earth eyes notice immediately. It’s a gryphon. She cannot recall ever seeing such a creature before, one that grafted so smoothly from eagle to lion it’s hard to tell where one animal begins and the other ends. Despite the pecularity she would think would come with having two animals mashed together, there was an undeniable beauty to the companion of Rishima (not that Tor knew Mirage sister’s name) and she found herself rather drawn to the idea of such a fine creature. Once again she wondered about companions, what it was like to be bonded. Tempted she was, immediately- more and more she found the idea attracting her. Magic was one thing, but having a creature bonded to her, bound to her in love, was wonderful. Someone who would travel with her… but did companions ever not bind?
“I’m sorry, I was distracted by your companion.” Tor said, realizing with a start her thoughts had drawn her away farther than she had intended, yet her eyes stray from Rishima’s to the bloody-breasted gryphon to the right (Rishima’s left) of the black mare. “I wish to find home and sanctuary with the Edge. I’m Tor, part- or was part, perhaps- of the Gray, a mercenary group, yet I find more often the idea of having those in need to pay, turning me away from it. I’m a healer, and a wanderer who wishes to settle, I suppose you could say.” Carefully she did tread around how she had healed the Edge, or the Auroreans, after being driven out, yet even a skilled tone-reader would not be able to tell. Except if they had excellent intuition.
Then the black mare does not query of ‘who’, but of ‘what’, Tor is made of, and the draft finds herself at a loss. Yes, who is she? Wanderer… but no longer does she wander. Fighter? Oh no, certainly not. Lover, friend, mercenary, healer? True, all of them, but the words don’t fit quite right. “Everyone can have a different opinion about one horse, but truthfully… I think I am sometimes stupid, sometimes take on too many allies, sometimes am too kind for my own good, and I make mistakes. But I try my best for my family, and I need to settle these legs before I find myself lost, not just physically but mentally.” Tor exhaled slightly, shuts her eyes for a brief moment, and opens them, almost reluctantly. She worried, you understand, about rejection. Of being turned away. Of telling the poor mare too much. Maybe she had only wanted a simple ‘I want a family’ or ‘I’m nice’.
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