For awhile he simply stood in place, stationary like the trees that surrounded them. His warm eyes lingered on Phaedra’s emaciated and brittle form, sadness and sympathy floating upwards from his gut and causing his heart to clench painfully in his chest. Apollo hated seeing her like this; reclusive, shamed, uncertain… It was as if he knew two different mares. One was beautiful and outgoing, flirtatious and filled with a confidence that Apollo himself could only dream of having… And then there was this version of her, this unsure, fearful side. Yet where others may have backed away from Phaedra’s hairless, featherless form, Apollo did not.

He found that if anything, he simply wanted to protect her from the cruelty that others might throw her way. Whether or now Phaedra would appreciate such actions, for she was definitely a creature who could take care of herself, well… Apollo wouldn’t know. The last thing that he wanted to do was accidently have Phaedra think that he believed she couldn’t take care of herself, for that wasn’t the case at all.

Allowing an uneasy, yet gentle smile to tug at his dark lips, the stallion finally spoke. His voice was soft, a gentle caress much like the soft breeze that occasionally filtered through the forest around them. “Phae,” he said, allowing his gaze to drop for a few moments before looking almost fearfully back up to her, gazing into the depths of her sunken eyes, “I, um…” Oh, Gods, of all the times for his words to fail, now was it?! He was going to be leaving shortly with Ktulu, Ophelia, and the others of the Grey to try and take the Foothills so that they would have a true place to call home. There would be war, and possibly death… How could he not say what he needed to say?

Giving a small grunt of frustration at his own lack of communication –or was it cowardice?- the painted stallion opened his mouth, hesitated yet once again, and then finally started talking. The words poured from his mouth freely, like the drops of a fresh spring rain, and even if he wanted to try and stop himself, Apollo found that he no longer had control of his vocals.

“Phaedra, I… I’m going to be leaving soon, to go with the Grey to try and take the Foothills. I’m afraid, you know?” He paused, a somewhat fearful laugh escaping his throat. “I’m no soldier; I never have been, but I think the one thing that scares me more than dying is that… That I’ll never get to see you again. That this will be the last time that I can see you; the last time we can actually talk.” His soft, warm, honey-brown gaze lingered upon her face, absorbing every marred detail. Even if she was different, changed due to her curse, Apollo would remember every last detail of the mare who had given him purpose, family, and had stolen his heart.

“There’s something that I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I just haven’t because I’ve been afraid…” What was it about life and death situations that drew this out between them? His front hooves once more began to shuffle, nostrils flaring slightly in his growing nervousness. His words became soft, stuttering syllables that were leaving his trembling lips. “Phaedra… In case that, well… In case I don’t come back, or we don’t see each other again, I j-just wanted to tell you that, that… That I l-love you, Phaedra. I really do.”

We Don't Have to Miss Each Other
We Don't Have to Fix Each Other
We Don't Have to Say Forever
You Don’t Have To Stay Forever
Come Over