The cold of the Basin seems to have seeped into the old stallions very bones while he rested and now it emanates from within with a life and breath of it's own, a haunting chill that’s inescapable in the cool and quiet of night. Despite the mild temperatures of Birdsong his skin puckers, his uneven coat standing stiffly on end. A shiver runs down his spine and he quickens his step as if to outpace it, angling himself toward the newly refurbished greenhouse.
Slipping through an opening in the panes, he spares a glance for the thin moonlight reflecting back at him as he passes, already repeating the herbalists descriptions of the plants within in his head.
Euphoria. Tranquility. Better sleep. Any sleep would be better at this point, he silently gripes, shaking himself. His companion hangs lazily from one horn, trying to sleep despite his bondeds restlessness, largely unaffected by both the stallions unusual cold and the violent images that flash across their shared consciousness at rest, the jumble of places and faces all meaningless to him without the emotional ties of actual experience and
those the old black refuses to share, feigning ignorance each morning after.
He’s pretty sure he remembers where the
Nymphaea Caerulea is planted, but as his eyes adjust to the thicker darkness of the structures interior he realizes that he’s not alone. Both ears flick forward, hoping the crouched figure ahead is Mortuus himself, but Mortuus doesn’t have wings or giant swathes of white across his sides. He tries to remember the mares name – had she given one? He’d been so preoccupied with the roots and flowers that he hadn't bothered to listen to any introduction she might have given, but he
does remember the grin of approval his questions had brought on and makes an easy leap of logic as to why she’s here.
“Any Luck?” He asks, only noticing the pile of crushed leaves at her feet as he steps closer. Mashed into little clumps by the mares hooves, they do have a certain scent about them. He edges closer, inhaling deeply.
“It sounded like they're safe to eat."
"Talk."
OOC //
@Weaver
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
![[Image: 56c616e54affc]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/56c616e54affc)
