He wasn't quite sure where they were going, just that the path led down - and it was one hell of a path, too. Narrow and cracked, loose pebbles skittering down the sheer drop, barely wide enough for them to safely pass in places... Why on earth had she come up here? And why on earth had he picked this stupid place to land? In some distant corner of his mind, he had been aware of the heat danger when flying over the clouded peaks and not daring to go blind into a mountain range - but he'd picked an awful spot for trying to remedy the problem. Stupid. He was supposed to be older now, and wise, wasn't he? As if. Moth would never grow up, he'd always be the colt with his forelock all messed up and pushing friends off cliffs to help them fly. Caring, but with odd outlets. Tactless. As a foal he'd been mostly harmless, as a colt outright dangerous, and now? Well, at least the only one he'd endangered this time was himself...

She began to talk and his drifting mind found an anchor. His roaming eyes, too. They steadied on what he saw of her face, and lit up each time she turned to glance at him. He couldn't quite name the feeling that made his heart feel winged, the way it fluttered in his chest each time their gazes met. He didn't have any flowers this time around, though, and wasn't quite sure if the best thing to say when being newly resurrected was hey I like you. "A spring," he echoed, the cogs of his mind turning. While he did feel quite awake, the whole communication thing just seemed.. offline. He frowned slightly. What the hell was wrong with him? Was it just that having a near-death experience robbed him of his wits? He didn't even know if he was making sense anymore. "I come from the Vale. Many of us are shamans. I've never known anyone to physically heal." His words were clipped, the sentences lacked flow, and his voice was not much more than a hoarse whisper; dehydration had parched his mouth and tongue and he hadn't had the opportunity to wet it, but his voice was warm. How could it not be, when he spoke to her?

Then silence descended again, and Moth nearly tumbled off the path when he looked too much at her and too little on where he went. One wing flared out for balance as he caught himself, and he gave her a sheepish grin but said nothing. He did, however, keep his eyes on the path more after that.

The finch was a mystery too, but he did not feel like asking about it now - there was so much, so many things lying just across his mind and his mouth, muting him. She spoke again, nearer the base of the mountain, and his ears flickered, then fell back, as if in shame. Had he abandoned her? "I fled far north," he said, his voice and wording still somewhat detached, as if he wasn't entirely awake yet. He didn't know why it was like that, but talking still felt.. odd. It wasn't that he'd spent time being silent, just that - the moment, when she'd saved him... When he'd seen her... It was like something had come loose, gone off the hinges, mentally. "I found shamans to stay with. Nomads..." And then his voice gave out, becoming nothing but a dry rattle, like the whispering wind through a meadow of tall grasses. Another slight frown appeared on his face and then he shrugged. Hopefully she'd understand, that whatever magic had infused his body had not replenished such silly things like saliva.

A spring opened up before them, and the finch landed on Onni's shoulder, singing a song of triumph. Instincts took over and Moth stumbled forward at a half-run, and just narrowly avoided faceplanting the water. Instead he pushed his muzzle into it and sucked greedily at the liquid, relishing every moment of the cool water rushing down his parched throat. It hit his gut like a cold kick, but it was pleasant all the same - it made him feel more... alive. The irony of it made him snort, but then he quieted again, lost in the world of water.

When he'd quenched as much of the thirst as he could - he knew it would take time - he lifted his head, water dribbling uncharmingly down his chin and splattering back into the spring. Moth's head tilted slightly, warmth making his teal eyes seemed softer, more glowing. "Onni," was all he said at first, just tasting her name again, coming from the lips of the living and not the more-or-less dead; how good it felt to say it again, to see her face again! Yet social awkwardness struck and he remained where he was, before lowering his eyes to her hooves and grinning sheepishly. "I.. don't have any flowers."