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01-05-2015, 11:48 PM
 The god's metaphor with moths has Buce's lips twitching, and he fights to keep from smiling. And fails. But he remains silent, listening. He did not believe himself lost, he had a plan in mind, in motion. But...maybe to the god he is lost. A moth chasing a flame, mistaking it for a dream and burning in the agony of his mistake and fantasy. It's a sobering thought, and he ponders it, mulling the theory over. But he never removes his focus entirely from the Sun God. So when the flaming deity tells him precisely what he must do to obtain the power he sought... He wanted to laugh. "I have been chasing the wind since i could first fly into her embrace." He said, grinning now. His grin was born of amusement, of the irony of the situation. To chase the wind... it was something fit for a song. Had he been a mare he would be composing the verses right off the bat. As it was...he'd settle for music. The Sun god hands him an amulet, and he takes it and carefully tucks it in one of his pouches. "Thank you. For everything really." He said as he straightened. "Since when has the fickle wind ever wanted to be captured? Is it not her nature?" He hummed, then dipped his head once more. "Pardons, i doubt you wish to be pestered longer. I will return with the wind." He apologized, mind rolling over prospects. Now he could have fun doing this and chase the wind like a hero of old... or capture wind magic in the amulet. Was there really a doubt which one he'd choose?  |
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