CHERNOBYL

Is it night or day? Birdsong, tallsun or frostfall? Maybe orangemoon? There is no way to tell all the way down here in the dripping tunnels. What a way to live. A wonderful way it is.

“Quiet,” She breathes aloud and settles her dark wet eyes onto Quilyan's face. “Yes...quiet indeed.” Her gritty voice is a whisper at this point and her observant gaze moves away from him and back to the walls while he muses a little more on the subject. His voice lulls softly into her ears, bouncing off of the stone walls that surround them. She's quite content to just listen to him for a bit without interjection of her own voice. Bull finds his voice much more pleasant than the 'rattling' of her own. His conclusion draws her attention back to looking at him. Her face almost a frown but still pretty inexpressive. “It would be a tragedy.” Chernobyl bends an ear, an anxious twitch at the thought of this information fading away with time. Thoughts begin to flood, but she dams them up soon enough, clearing her throat and stepping passed the winged stallion toward the  room's archway. “I'm going up top for some fresh air.” So lusterless. She calmly strides passed. The echo of her footfall chimes faintly as she walks toward the opening that leads to the hall. “You can join me, if you'd like, Quilyan.” Bull casts a glance over her shoulder,  her voice having its typical flatness, her expression betraying just as little as her emotionless tone.

Her mind goes back in time for a second or two while she makes her way up and up. It's been a few years since she's seen Murdock, but the void remains the same. Steady as ever, gnawing at her hollow heart. She's never thought of love since nor companionship in general. A few faces here and there, but this particular interaction is the longest in quite some time. His vibrant feathers remain nestled, knotted rather, tightly in her mane. They're buried half the time and display a faded glow from beneath her gnarly black hair.

Fresh air moves outside of the cave's mouth. She can smell the damp leaves, the moving wind, she can hear the birds chattering just outside. She gives her coat a good shake and continues up the slope into the golden sunlight above. Her thorned horn rises first from the ground like the steam that rolls into the morning air all around her. The warm cave air meets the chilly birdsong temperatures in the forest above and so she and the thick fingers of fog move into the open together. It's Birdsong, and it's just after dawn.

She turns to see if Quilyan followed.



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if i had a heart i could love you,
if i had a voice i would sing.