Small footsteps were accompanied by a small voice, thin and hesitant as it bleated a word that sounded more like query than greeting. The towering beast, in no mind of eating foal that day, turned an ear towards the youth and contemplated whether to respond or not. Most of his thoughts were still focused inward, mulling and turning over matters that to him seemed of great consequence; after a heartbeat or two he offered only a non-committal grunt, somewhere between a hello and a snort, and ignored the child.

It would seem that the deserted shrines of the gods were still busily traversed however, because no sooner had the disguised vagabond turned away than another arrived, bringing tastes of sulfur and flame upon the wind and a cheerful, feminine greeting that suggested an age more close to his own. A quiet 'tsk' left him before he had time to reconsider - there was no way he would be able to stay introverted with so many strangers around - and with the intention of leaving before being dragged into a pointless conversation the stag turned around, careful to avoid the hot air that preceded risks of a very fiery death.

He turned, and froze, because not only had the girl arrived but her carelessly wielded magic had disguised the presence of a third - and this third made the hackles rise within the dark steed, alarms ringing like bells within the head as he heard the slippery, unsatisfied hunger within the voice.

He couldn't see the beast, could not recognize it for what it was, but dangerous things would always be dangerous. Frowning the blind stag tried to remember where the path had gone, tried to recall and retrace his own steps so that he wouldn't have to use the normal march of a walk and amble straight into the clutches of danger - but time was not on his side, events were unfolding at such pace that it was hard to keep up. A wet, disgusting sound of parting lips was followed by the sudden cry of a girl he didn't recognize, shouting a name that might belong to the colt or to the young mare he had never greeted - and with all the bravery of youth that never saw the danger to themselves the foal threw himself towards the fray with such foolish fervor that Morir was sure he'd probably get himself killed before ever reaching a year of age.

He didn't sigh, didn't roll non-existing eyes in empty sockets or pass any snarky remarks about the wise thing in joining a fight one was likely to lose. Instead he hurled himself down the path in hot pursuit of the boy, cloves eerily steady on the uneven terrain and tasseled tail whipping like a banner in his wake; when he judged he'd caught up with the fleet-footed youth he lunged to the side, aiming to shove the kid with a shoulder so that he would topple and fall.

"Don't be stupid, you'll die" Morir snarled as he spun around and turned on the kid, massive frame trying to block the way to the fight even as he listened to the sounds, trying to judge what was going on - would the girls be alright or should he try to help them? Never did he think that the child he tried to save could be of more use than himself - what, after all, could a spider-legged fawn do but break and die, spilling crimson blood in vain over the black rocks?


@[Amaris]

"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"