Lyhty's judgment still burst forward from his eyes, a vehemence unmatched. The possessive grip upon the mare's mane, the ruffling of his feathers, the finch defending the mare despite his tiny size. Love, entrenched so deeply in the miniature little bird, outweighed even the common sense that Eribor could crush his frail, hollow bones beneath a single hoof. Still, the fact the stallion felt the need to assert some sort of primal male dominance with his own display of feathers gave the songbird a marked satisfaction.

None of this reached the deafened mind of the painted mare, her wings drawn tight against her body, tendrils of her golden mane dancing absently against her skin. The expression on her face so bleak, empty, dramatically so. Perhaps, because the lines of her face were so acclimated to pulling into brilliant smiles the absence of happiness left impressioned holes. Weary, morose, but the empty expanse of her pale face only reaches these emotions through the thick lashes surrounding light colored oceans of melancholy.

Hopelessly, she stood before Eribor, who had undoubtedly expected a brilliant smile to greet him much like their last meeting.

The defiance present in his face upon their last meeting disappeared. Suddenly, as soon as her eyes felt for his, the motion of his body appeared as a corpse. Shocked, so very shocked, to find the golden girl's smile thrown away like trash, replaced with a blank expression and mournful eyes. There is recognition, somewhere, within earthen toned eyes, but Onni does not see it, feel it. The words which slip mechanically from Eribor's lips seem like a cruel joke in the darkened pit of her chest, as though she was well. Standing still witha fragile state of mind - the Illuminant might as well be nothing but a mere cur wishing to be kicked.

Lyhty chides her inwardly for the comment, but it's not heard. Only the deafening crackle of the fire which is absent in her soul. Only the mere glow of her luminescent coat speaking of her once favored position under the Sun. A traitor to his embrace, she might as well be outcast and forced to be reminded every waking moment that she once touched the light. What life have you now, Onni? What did you trade in for this reality?

There is little response to the statement "You look ill", for there was nothing incorrect about it. The mare felt she likely looked aged, tired, and meek. Certainly, within the chasms of her heart she felt sick, deathly ill. Loneliness had taken its toll. Guilt had shattered her hopes. Now, the gruff stallion stumbles for words to correct what may have been an insult to any other. Lyhty, certainly, was not pleased by his choice of wording. Onni just stands silently, listening to his voice break against her like waves against the shore. As for his question, she did not know how to answer.

Physically, she was fine. Tired from her long journey, but not unhealthy. Emotionally, she felt as though she had been thrown against every tree in Helovia, and into the Heart before her for good measure. No matter the case, the kindness natural within her soul could not let Eribor carry the weight of her problems. She had known upon their first meeting that this stallion carried around an unfortunate mountain himself. "Yes," she says simply, still quiet. "You needn't trouble yourself with a nosey mare."

The joke falls from her lips in a dead voice, but at least somewhere she remembered humor. In a few weeks, surely, the pain would subside. Surely, she would be just fine.