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In the in-between, emotions flail and fall asunder to the ground. They roost in the soil of her soul with each measured breath, especially as the pain takes precedence. Despite the water’s sting, the coolness soothes the heat that follows their tears and rips. Even the wounds unseen, accumulating behind flesh are soothed for the time being. So while the youth reminisces, thoughts that wander to the more important memories – she is lost when his voice murmurs out to her.
Ru lifts her head, blinks a few times – surprised to see the giant in the waters with her. She can feel her senses tingle, muted from the exhaustion. What a silly thing to forget, she thought briefly, to throw away vigilance for rest? It wouldn’t do her any good in the wilds would it?
He seems to highlight this point, though his choice words inevitably remind her of her mother. Volterra, the unseemly gentleman is either doing this out of pity or out of routine. He calls her something she doesn’t recognize, but out of careful, forced thought she is narrowing her eyes to distinguish his cause for saying so. Could the beast feel guilt perhaps? Was it because of how poorly she’d handled the fight?
Her concentration takes pause when Volterra mentions Dragon’s Throat. It was her first ‘home’, in Helovia – if one could call it home. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, and one can clearly see the distaste of that word that spreads across her face. Ears that flex back for a moment, her head that rises despite the pain – pulling down on her muscles. A careless snort exits her nostrils. She shakes her head, out of that reserved spite for not finding what she needed, when she needed it most. For fear of discovering something new, and thus – realizing that she was wrong after all… Or that perhaps she hadn’t searched long and hard enough to find the right people.
It was too late. Despite the possibilities that Volterra had extended to her, she was too inexperienced to look past the assault of her experience. Ru would not, could not accept the offer – whether it would have made life easier, safer. She’d managed as a young one for all that time, she could do it again – regardless of the hurtles set before her.
She looked away into the forest and firmly shook her head again. Too tired to express the full range of her ire, she leaves it at that. With a sigh, she moves stiffly to shallow waters – works on rubbing the wounds with her muzzle, a soft and measured touch. It wouldn’t do any good if the grime remained in those tender places. Grimacing, huffing, she is slowly working up the gusto to leave. The flight is not terribly long, though she is wishing, praying that the winds above the firmament are strong this early morning.
The youth finally finishes what she thinks is sufficient in the warm light. The young mare unfurls those wings. The first few strokes are slow and tender. But her expression is fighting against the pain that will not shake. Determination will not leave her side, and after a few stronger flaps that cause the dust to unsettle from the shore, the waters to shiver with the drag, she meets his crimson gaze with the unbroken brightness of her eyes. Inflamed, stubborn.
See? I’m fine, really. A firm and nearly childish chirp exits her lips.
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