Even as the nervous questions stuttered their way out of the stallion's dark lips, Vincent could easily spot that something was amiss with the dainty angel standing before him. Hazel eyes that shone so gently, so passionately with love and life were wilted with anxiety, with uncertainty... What had bothered Myrrine so? Large ears tilted back, a growing ball of ambivalence and anxiety pooling in his belly.

Had something happened? Did he say something he shouldn't have. Ever so faintly the black giant began to tremble, uneasiness gripping him with a sickening hold as he frantically thought back to ever stuttered word. Did he offend her with his familiarity? Was it wrong of him to greet her so informally? So welcomingly, as though he had greeted a sister? Was it wrong, because he hadn't been a good son? He didn't deserve such kindness from Myrrine... Such friendship. Such love.

Vincent had killed. Without thinking, fueled by fear and desperation of Her, he had slain. He had obeyed. He had tasted the blood of those that She had demanded he kill...

Brother Knox. A halter in his teeth. Blood, oh Gods so much blood!

A high-pitched yip from Claribel snapped Vincent from his macabre memories, those terrible flashbacks, and he swallowed hard before focusing once more on the butterfly-kissed angel before him. Oh, Myrrine... As though realizing that she was the center of attention, Claribel sat upon her hind with a furiously wagging tail, bushy face held high as bluish-brown orbs lingered upon the spotted princess. Perhaps not a princess, but a she-warrior. Yes, that was much more fitting for Myrrine.

Claribel whined and barked, a sharp sound that once more snapped Vincent to attention. The Wolfhound pup had an uncanny ability to snap the stallion from his dark musings before they had gotten too far... Her presence was a blissful reprieve, for it wasn't often that Vincent found himself in the company of others.

It was shortly after such thoughts that Myrrine pressed her tiny frame up against his own colossal one. What a sight they must make? She, a foal of perhaps half-a-year with a heart of gold, and he, a cowardly giant, pressed together so intimately as though they had known each other their whole lives... He felt at peace, being so close to her, this spotted, winged creature with a gentle, loving heart. It had only been Archibald who had ever made him feel this way, and Vincent hoped that Myrrine knew just how special she was to him.

'You scared me,' Myrrine said worriedly, 'Are you alright? Please tell me what happened...'

Tell her what happened?

Nostrils flaring, quivering, eyes twitching to and fro with the anxiety of a drug addict, Vincent froze. Tell her...? Tell her of his nightmares? The terrors that haunted him? Of Mandrake? No. NO. Fear bristled anew within the black behemoths massive breast, nostrils flaring, golden eyes starting to glow faintly with fear, with desperation and anxiety and no, no, no, nonono...

He couldn't tell her. Couldn't. This was beyond simply not wanting to tell Myrrine of his mother, of Mandrake, the She-Demon, the Defiler, the Murderer, the Killer of Fathers, the Rapist of Souls. He did want to tell her, to divulge the horrors and perhaps lift the heavy weight of his damned soul, but he couldn't. Knowing Her name would forever curse Myrrine, and Vincent couldn't live with himself if revealing such knowledge put the winged angel in danger.

She would kill Myrrine if She knew, oh yes. Or... Or... If he could have paled in horrific realization, he would have. Golden eyes sparked to life, glowing fiercely as he realized that She would make Vincent kill Myrrine. Oh, Gods! No, no, no!

"I... I h-h-had a n-n-n-nightmare," Vincent muttered, shaking his head and stepping away from his spotted rock, "P-please, I... I c-c-can't t-talk about it. I... I'm s-s-sorry, Myrrine. N-not yet. Please."

Please don't make me. Please understand. Please know I'm doing this to keep you safe. He needed time... To breathe, to think, to put the words together so that they wouldn't strangle him when he tried to speak. Someday, perhaps, he would be able to tell Myrrine of his past, of her... But until then, he prayed she would have patience with him. A broken tool, he was, misused and misplaced... But even the most abused of tools could be mended.

Claribel whined pathetically as she sensed the brute's sheer amount of distress, practically dancing from paw to paw in front of the two equines. Looking to Myrrine, she whined again, blue-brown eyes pleading.

Vincent spoke again, desperate to change the subject. His eyes flicked around, settling upon Myrrine's face, her neck, her hooves, his hooves, Claribel, and finally settled on the butterfly wings that sprouted from the filly's spotted shoulders. They were far larger than they were the last time that they had crossed paths...

"C-can you fl-fly n-now?"

@[Myrrine]

I clutched my life
And wished it kept.
My dearest love I'm not done yet