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“Would it not be more unnatural to smile at rotting flesh?” I ask, a smirk rising on my lips as the dead one criticizes me for looking so displeased at his foul, decaying body. Do I fear death? No, but I should not have to be around to observe my own corpse when death falls upon me. “It is instinct that makes us shy away from death. Otherwise, we would welcome it.” The illusion of a full figure begins to form again, but I do not hardly blink at this alteration. I have already spied it from above in the clouds, where he did not see my approach until I was nearly upon the ground.
I note that his horn is pointed, seemingly at me, but it would be foolish for him to show aggression toward me. While he may be used to being dead, I was far more adept at living, fighting, and generally kicking the ass of any foolish enough to strike out at me first. My head just raises in rebellion of his silent threat, and we play a small game of unspoken words in this desert land. It was strange, to speak to this dead colt, who seemed so condescending toward the living. Was he not once a living soul as well? What was he now?
I did not know, but I did not dare ask.
His question takes me by surprise, but the emotion does not cross my face. Instead, my features turn thoughtful, as my dark blue eyes move systematically from his tiger to his own figure. Did I have need of him? Who would have need of a zombie and their pet cat? It seemed more like a dangerous endeavor than a beneficial one, but there was something in the dead look of his eyes that made me take pause. There was potential for some gain in this, I feel, but as for what, I do not know. “I do not know if we have a need, but you are welcome to stay, so long as no harm comes to my herd.”
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