Th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th. That's the sound his heart makes. It's not the sound it's supposed to make. Left alone with nothing but the silence of his mind he heard it too keenly, a throbbing in his ears, a hollow ringing in his chest. It wasn't the sound of control, of clarity and sanity; it was the sound of chaos and panic. Blood thrummed through his veins, too rapid and suddenly too hot. The hunger in his soul, the itch in his teeth, had faded. He felt jarred. Well and truly jarred, like someone had grabbed him by the horn and shaken him furiously, until everything had just fallen out and left him empty, desolate. The only thing he had was the empty cold of his eyes, and he stared down at the shorter mare—she did nothing. He did nothing. He let her be, and time ceased to be important. Seconds passed without him counting them, the only clock the rhythmic pounding of his heart. It was slower now, slower because he breathed.

Impassively he watched her raise her face, eyes tracing the contours, the lines and planes—the slight, raw charring on her muzzle. He knew that pain. He knew it, he hated it, and somehow she'd cheated death—twice. Both him and the fire.

Her fire-bitten muzzle pressed against the plush tip of his nose, and still he didn't move. He knew that the observation of his numbness was a thought in and of itself, but at the same time, his mind was empty, almost as if he'd lost himself by accident. The smell of her was overwhelming this close, of burnt hair and feathers, and seared flesh. Mostly the former. He held still, a statue but for his breathing, cold and distant. What was the meaning of this? What.. what was he even doing? What had he been doing here in the first place? Why was he mad? Because it felt like madness, that blood-rage.

It felt like an eternity of silence, of dark eyes meeting lifeless blue ones, until she pulled away and spoke gently, as if to soothe a beast. ”Go friend, be at peace.”

His eyes lowered, and he turned his head aside; her words called something back to life, a sense of shame and guilt—this.. wasn't who he was. Who he wanted to be. He'd spent his entire life trying to atone, to become better. Was he going to let it all come to ruin now? He was a husk because he hollowed himself out. Because he always pulled back, further and further, until there was nothing left just beneath his skin.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice clear but low. His ears flicked back hesitantly. She was well within her rights to start yelling at him, or running away. Or telling him to go take a leap off the edge. He kept silent a moment longer. It felt stupid, pointless, to try and explain. There was nothing to explain, anyway. Oh, he could say I didn't mean to, but that didn't change the fact that he had done it. "Does it.. does it hurt?" he asked cautiously after a moment, his eyes going to her badly scorched wings.

[ welcome to the bipolarity that is mauja.... <_< ]