heart-blind;

Was this what it was like to be normal? Like he'd been before? Bereft of bitterness, and loathing? To simply smile, laugh a little, with someone else—her voice was light, tinkling like water and silver bells. Even while he'd schemed during his days in the Edge, he had not been morose, or lost, or.. unhappy. He'd been content, for a while, pleasant and polite and doing his best to overturn the rumors of their wicked politics. A losing battle, but one he'd enjoyed, even though it had been frustrating.

But what came back the most to him, was that he'd been smiling. Laughing. He envied the lightness of her voice, the way it seemed to flutter out of her throat with barely any prompting at all, while his own body seemed to have forgotten what it was like. Still, if he'd spent years trying to wake up, and seal the scars on his heart, perhaps he wasn't awake yet—and maybe it would get easier, with time, if only he didn't forget how to do it again. Yes. He'd like that. To feel alive again, no matter where his hooves strayed and what his mind dreamed. With the sun on his back, Irma on his shoulder.. it felt like a step, no, a leap, in the right direction, and his small smile returned, stronger.

Kahlua seemed sweetly entranced with Irma, smiling at the owl, who returned the attention with her impassive gaze. He almost felt a bit bad for the kind mare, but Irma was of the opinion that she had been generous enough just by coming down. She'd never cared overly much for the other equines in his life, anyway. It was part of her charm, he guessed, and was just about to apologize on behalf of his stone-of-an-owl (though why, he couldn't know; it just felt right, somewhere in the region of his heart) when she spoke again. A bit hesitant, as if unsure of how he'd react. “You could come home with me, you know... if you wanted.” It was just barely he stopped himself from sorrowfully saying, Oh, Kahlua... Instead, he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, and forced his face to remain smooth, and calm, to not betray the sudden storm within; it felt like someone had ripped his heart out and thrown it into the glaciers.

She had no clue. She had no clue who he was, what he'd done. His heart ached for the simplicity of her words, of the chance to walk the Edge again... “Its safe. I- We have a wall! You could see it!” It seemed the Plague had left a lasting mark on Helovia—walls, walls, walls. Where they all so afraid of the big bad unicorns?

He shoved those thoughts aside, mind picking up speed. He hated decisions. He hated having to make them on the spot, when his will pulled in different directions. She was so innocent, offering a home to a beaten-down wanderer, without knowing that he was the wolf in the sheep's clothing; and damn, part of him just wanted to lay down his arms and whisper yes. But how could he? Walls could not keep him safe when the ones who meant him harm lived within. Last he'd heard, Mirage had wanted him on a trial for Torasin's death, something he expected would just be a sham to call for an execution.

And that other, darker part whispered take the chance, grab them by the throat and bite down—d'Artagnan would've shoved him off a ledge without hesitation if he'd known that Mauja hesitated to abuse an unsuspecting equine. It wasn't a sobering thought; it was a painful thought of how he'd managed to expertly trap himself between hungry beasts of different natures. His time was running out, anyway, but what should he say? Oh, I'm sorry Kahlua, I don't think that's a good idea because I happened to kill your last Doctor, Torasin, and it didn't sit very well with Mirage when she figured it out? Hardly soothing. He swallowed again. His mouth was dry. "I would like that," he began quietly, voice sober, slow, weighing each word. He doubted they'd let him stay anyway, knowing who he was; would bringing him turn part of the blame on Kahlua? Would she blame herself?

Could he do it to her?
That was, perhaps, the one thing it all balanced upon; how heartless was he? How curious, bold, stupid?

"But..." He drew his 'brows together. Breathe. His heart was pounding; say too little and you might hurt her, say too much and you blow it already. He couldn't even tell why his spirit was shaking, or from what; excitement, at having something to do, or fear, of the outcome? How stupid was he, if he wanted to walk into the wolf's mouth? For all he knew, they wanted him dead. "But, if the rest of your herd doesn't want me, don't blame yourself, hm?" he finally said in the end. He couldn't let her go entirely unprepared into this.