He seems to relax, and as he does, so do I. It's odd how that works; how one's emotion can be so closely tied to another that you reflect their anxiety, their cheer, their everything. "We can fly," he says, and I reward him with a heartfelt smile. "But say anything else, I have something to show you." I tilt my head to one side, watching inquisitively. What would he have to show me that had anything to do with flight? He raises a wing, revealing a twisted scar beneath his right wing. It's an ugly scar, and I don't mean that in the way it sounds - I mean that it looks painful, both when it was given and after it has healed. It's a stretched, shiny pink, as though it has only recently healed, but I am almost positive that this is not the case.

I hum sympathetically, glancing from the scar to his eyes. As he speaks again, I turn back to his side. "I can tell you how it got there, if you'd like." Slowly, I reach out, gently running the soft velvet of my maw along the scar. It is rough under my touch, and I hope that it does not pain him. When I look back to him, he is avoiding my gaze, and I realize just how self-conscious the stallion is. I've already touched him, so I don't feel as awkward when I nudge his shoulder, attempting to raise his gaze to my smiling face. That he has a scar does not bother me; we all have them, some physical, some mental. And often, they hold memories we do not wish to revisit.

"If you would like to tell me, I would like to listen," I tell him gently, my thoughts shying away from my own horrific past. Perhaps we have more in common than it would originally seem. I came from a home torn apart by racism, chased from the land by those with a lust for my blood. I was the only survivor, thanks to one old turncoat from the unicorn army. Perhaps I would have hated them all, save for her, but she nursed me until I was old enough to survive on grass, taught me of the gods and the ways of the land, and traveled with me until she fell to sickness. She had taught me that all life was sacred, regardless of race. I wonder briefly if this is a belief that Note and I share, but I am primarily waiting for his words. Surely they would give me insight into his history, something I was very interested in.

"talk talk talk"

I want to live inspired