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Tor tips her head in quiet joy of his warm greeting, happy to see a friendly face amongst uncertainty; her creamy forelock drifts into her soft chocolate eyes, and she shakes her skull, disloding the pearly hairs. It's funny how horses live up to their colors, so to speak; she could not quite imagine Torasin being any different than the golden horse he is, a cheery spirit, one that wore his yellow-and-white coat well.
Another pale mare appears, just as pearly and pale as Tor herself; another alabastar femme walking in the budding life of this spring day, where everything is youthful. Despite the fire, the hungry leaping flames, from last Tallsun, the world here had healed well, like a broken bone mending even stronger than before. She moves with the quiet contentment of an older mare who has aged well and continues on with life in steady confidence; and Tor finds herself admiring a mare who holds herself so well, when Tor herself is constantly fretting and worrying and wondering of what will be and what is. Of course, she hoped settling down would fix this; nail her down a little more, as with her being with Destrier and becoming round at the belly. "Hello there!" Tor speaks up, cheerful as the chirping birds, and gives one of her most delightful smiles; "I'm Tor. It's lovely to meet you."
The next to come is another she has not met, looking ever so slightly... not timid, persay, and not cautious; not afraid, but not outgoing. He is a big stallion, hardly smaller than her and more broad; and he has little wings along the side of his body, shuffling brown feathers. What would it be like to fly? Of course, she doubts he could with his mass and the width of his little cherub wings; but nevertheless, she likes his warm face. It seems here, at least, everyone is friendly, and the stallions are gentlemen; at least you didn't get any riff-raff like the Gray. Tor finds herself enjoying the thought immensely, and despite the slightest of sinking of fear of speaking to Ophelia, she smiles back and her spirits rise again. "I'm Tor."
Thirdly came the DragonHeart, and for a moment Tor finds herself stiffening, muscles clenching slightly in curiousity and wariness- does Mirage remember her attempt to rescue her? If she did, was she disappointed in her failure? Would she judge the healer for it? Yet if it was true, Mirage did not give outward sign of it, nor the little golden dragon- she smiles at each and every one of them, a genuine smile, and her worries melt away into the sweet spring air. "Mirage? May we speak after this meeting?" Tor queries politely, ears flicking forward in quiet curiousity. She hopes the DragonHeart will say yes- she would like to catch up with her.
Lastly comes a mare, hardly more than a filly; a red roan appaloosa, who Tor does not know; and she shoots a quick smile towards the yearling before returning her attention to the head of the class. Gossamer speaks up, of foals, and the draft is curious to how many foals and childbirth, despite being a healer rather skilled in the matter whilst not bearing foals herself; maybe because there is a child growing inside her. And onward to salves.
Tor allows herself a careful scrutinizing of the wound; it is partially healed, through age, and she says quietly, but ever so politely; "Tsk tsk, Torasin, not healing the leader of your herd sooner?" But she laughs, kindly, teasingly, and looks again. "Comfrey is always good for mending wounds; and chamomile is antibacterial as well as anti-inflammatory; calendula as well. I don't think we would need marigold, chervil, or those sort of anti-infection herbs, for it's been healing on its own and infection would've developed before now. As long as you keep it clean, Mirage." She pauses, and concludes; "I think a solution of chamomile and comfrey would be good, and change it every day or so. If it was more fresh, I would suggest changing every few hours; but it's not."
we all have our stories- i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.
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