» Poor child. Blythe couldn't help but let the thought enter her mind, violet eyes surveying the boy softly as he took in her words. He seemed to think on them for a moment, before turning them around upon the chocolate mare, making her cringe slightly. Where would she be if she had chosen to follow the path others were forcing on her? She mused while the pale mare spoke, allowing one ear to capture her words while her oculars remained focused on the child, gauging his reactions and musing upon her own thoughts. Sohalia's offer was just what the child needed, a home and a purpose. The mention of the Dragon's Throat caught her attention, remember the invitation that she had received to the same land from Rei a few days earlier. It was the only home that she had heard of so far, and she wondered if even more of these caring individuals made it their home. So far she had heard nothing but the best from these members of the Dragon's Throat, and it made her almost long for such a land. The coltine surely seemed excited at the prospect, his voice betraying him.
Blythe was curious what was studied in the land, but she had yet to answer the child's question from moments earlier. She flicked her tiara to the side, displaying the festering wound that left her cheek a mass of hollowed out flesh. She couldn't tell exactly how badly it looked, but if the dull ache gave any indication of how the would was healing - it was not doing well. She should be worried over the gash, but she could not find it in herself to think too deeply upon it. Thinking about the stallion that had ripped into her cheek brought about waves of intermingled regret and loneliness, remembering her former herd members that had decided that following a path laid out for them by another was better than fighting for their own. "I would be a slave to another, or dead." She offered a kind smile despite the morbid words, violet eyes holding no grudge toward the one that had made her face this way. "There will always be those that try to subject you to their own ideals, but you must decide that your own are worth a fighting chance. She shifted her head so her locks would fall back across her ailing cheek, hoping that her answer would be enough for the boy.
@[Rayo]
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[O] Reasons Like Seasons, They Constantly Change
