I watch her with an endless curiosity as she stirs from her forced sleep, its dreams seemingly unknind if her moans and thrashing were anything to guage it by. I have lived through such a similar dreamland, in days past, in a place that was not here. Its fog still settles in the back of my thoughts, obscuring things I once knew, batting me away whenever I tried to reach for them.

I sighed softly, lamenting this course of action, but such is the thinking of a panicked bird.

Dark wings heavy with wet feathers flutter as I glide down to her side. Small, beady black eyes reflect her image as they shine in the dawn light. I tilt my head, beak clicking with a quiet slopping as moisture ns across its own kind. Darkness drips from my stillness, pooling at the ground, staining the grasses and the dirt. I cast a cursory glance around, wary, protective, and then I hop back. As I move I rippled, my body shuddering with magic as the drawn bird is snuffed out into a midnight rain.

Hooves replace the thin toes, a soft muzzle the hard line of a beak, scrawny mane the bristle of feathers, and a sleek body no less shiny or absolute in its abyss of color overtakes the small and plump avian shape. I stand as a horse again, whole in the most minimal sense of the word.

The thin length of my neck extends to and potentially over her, if she remains still. I grimace as I look at her, the line of my lips set as if to speak, but instead the fall into a pained frown which wrinkles up by my eyes. Gently I step back, casting my tail against me like a shawl in which I intend to hide, its length and thickness strange compared to the almost emaciated presence I keep. I am hiding, like any artist, behind my brush. Its hairs gets to work, dark water seeping from their tips onto the canvas of the land. I draw for her my silent apology; a ring of black flowers that bloom gloriously around her.

This unkindness I have wrought her is the uglness of my trade, one which I bemoan now that I am charged with her care, and her hurt. Could I make amends for my transgressions? With the battle already underway she was an unnecessary piece to keep, though I caught her anyway as she came tardy to the fray, her lateness the only thing that drew my attention. I guess even if I'm ashamed of my work, I'm proud of it too, because I caught her regardless of need, but wish to blame it on such.

I sigh again, and in response my brush strokes out an obsidian butterfly which is sent fluttering to her nose.
I want to talk, in the only ways that I can. It's the only worth yet remaining to her imprionment, company for this damned soul.

(Ink will release Lena if she allows him to visit her home with her. He'll try his best to convery this during our thread ^^ Apologies for typos, on kindle and it fails at spell check.)