Rikyn

I answer her question, at first, with a smile, one that says much more than I probably will; I’ve outrun guardians, battled friends, and narrowly avoided other mishaps along the way, but I haven’t died or been seriously wounded (but for that time with Aelin, in the mountains). This adds a certain amplitude to the already present imagined immortality of being young, and I’m rather drunk on the high that being so fucking amazing gives me. Part of me, a part I mentally shove aside anytime it tries to talk sense to me, says I should enjoy it while I can, because I’ve only been lucky so far.

"I think I won most," I proudly state, because I honestly feel like I had, even if I didn’t. Training with Furen while in the Nightwalk had given me that sort of bold belief, that any fight you walked away from of your own strength was a fight won, mostly because it was how he believed, too; that he’d never tried to metaphorically or literally kick my legs out from underneath me is something I probably won’t think to be appreciative of for many more years to come. He was a good teacher, even if I failed to give him credit for it. "Tables sure kicked my ass though. Do you figure it’s cheating if it’s three on one?"

By Tables, I mean Volterra, but I’m private about my own name, and feel like it might be shitty behavior to toss around someone else’s; by three on one, I mean he and his two dragons, one of which seemed pretty young. I might bother to explain as much if she asks…

I might not. Winning most while fighting three on one makes me sound pretty bad-ass and noble.

The metal’s dirty glint is a distraction at my hooves, because I want to clean it and inspect the runes almost as much as I want to talk to Zandora. It’s a lot easier to decide when she grumpily dismisses the notion of being on a patrol, my entire attention fixing on her as she explains. When her voice breaks and she falls into what I call the endless mind well (sometimes I fall down into blackness too), I can’t help but twinge ever so slightly, mostly because the conversation seemed to be going so well before.

Mares, and their moods. Why do women enjoy weeping and shouting so much?

Still, she’d called me her friend, and like a spell, that word has invoked certain responsibilities which I sort-of-grumpily accept, listening while doing my best to put on my “and tell me how that makes you feel” face.

Her daughter, she finishes after some moment’s time, the large black cat having approached her only seconds before. A flash of envy breaks through me, one I try to put aside because damn it more lost kids. The way she says it brings up a wave of sadness in myself, having been the child left by their mother in the Basin, and I can’t help but wonder what Cortana had done that made her dam not want her.

Maybe it would help me understand why mine hadn’t really wanted me, either; I set my questions aside, not wanting to ruin the mood anymore than it already is, clinging to the words “old friend” to keep my tongue preoccupied, and the black at bay.

I hope that the flash of darkness that surely expresses itself in my expression is mistaken for sadness for her. I don’t like looking at the faults in my armor at all, and am glad when she redirects the conversation on her own.

"For the most part, yeah, actually," I laugh awkwardly, the sound brittle and fake at first, but gaining in warmth the further away from the black well I mentally walk, "but a few fights were started because I was trying to get into places without notice. I admit I’m definitely better at starting fights than hiding from them, though."

[ OOC: Table change because ITS PURDY <3 ]