“I know words mean little, but I am sorry for your loss…” He went to take a step towards the snowy mare, large muzzle beginning to reach out to comfort the lost mother. But he halted his movement as Erthë was suddenly there, delicate pink nose stretching out in compassion.
A hot band tightened in his chest as he watched, listening in silent stillness as his little friend apologized to Elsa. He gently clamped his teeth against the flood of feelings that swamped him— he had never been allowed to feel such avuncular warmth (pride even). He blinked once, sliding his gaze to Elsa as she asked him about further injuries— and thoughts of the deaths from the last battle drowned the warmth that had blossomed in his chest.
Gentle he shook his head in reply, while Erthë partially answered her question. “You were not selfish in your actions, looking for your children is looking after the future of the herd. And Erthë is right, the battles encompassed all of Helovia, not solely the Edge. Your presence here could not have prevented them,” he paused, deciding how to give words to the wars. “Our gods brought in new lands from the Rift, a different realm. The Rift gods objected, and many were injured in the battles. Of the Edge, I believe Erthë was the most grievous physical injury… Though some have died,” he was quiet as he finished, uncertain as to how much information to reveal to the general. He wanted to inform her, but did not want to catalyze more guilt in the broken pegasus.
“The battles are won, now, though.”
He'll travel from afar, no matter where you roam.
Rest your angry heart, little one, don't you cry,
Soon you'll see him come across the bending, bleeding sky.