"Yes," he says in response to the pegasus's query. "Lady Nadira." The wolf seems abrupt, but it is not uncommon that he speaks thusly. He was not exactly the most adept at conversation, though he often spoke with an elegant tongue, he was not suave in the company of strangers. "There is no need to apologize, Levi." It was all that the hybrid could offer before Ophelia began to speak, her voice timid and light as she wavered through the extent of her emotions, belabored by sorrows and the worries of fresh made wounds. Tor, whoever the mare was, would never be a friend of Osiris.

Sharp, golden eyes fall upon the white mare, stained with the mire of the swamp, as she speaks of love. Curious, I think. It was odd to believe that this girl had gone and found herself falling for the deity which had wreaked havoc upon this land for a season, or at least that was the story upon my arrival here. It was certainly like Ophelia to believe a selfish ass, Osiris thinks with a smile, looking at his paws in the sodden earth with a sadness that creeps in his face. There were souls in this world that should be praised for their purity, yet time and time again, the wolf found that it were the souls worthy of praise that were dragged through the mud, connected by chains to those long since tainted. Biased to favor the girl automatically, perhaps, but there was something so unyieldingly beautiful about Ophelia that went past her features and reached into the depths of her heart.

There was kindness there, a kindness without rhyme or reason, one that often was extended to those who deserved it the least. She did not discriminate nor hold others accountable for her choices, only herself. By the pained expression on her face as she stumbles upon the words, that is the only answer. Ophelia, the girl built of snow and blood, had lent her heart to one more unworthy fool, and this time, there were pieces left scattered upon the ground.

Gently, Osiris reaches out a soft muzzle to nudge her shoulder as she speaks the final word, a brush filled with warmth and compassion. They were feelings that words cannot speak, one alienated being to another. Upon Ophelia's neck, Comadre coos, clinging to Tinek's arm insistently for support and reassurance that the girl was going to be alright. The black had no connection with the unicorn mare's mind, and was uncertain, worried, and struggling to make sense of her words even as Osiris's perceptions tried to clarify. One thing was absolutely certain: she was hurt, very badly, but not by physical wounds. Perhaps here, surrounded by those who loved her company, she could find some structure to hold her together, some support. Comadre and his bonded could only hope.

The wolf listens to the other stallion babble in a most disconcerted way, as though the words of the mare had upset him personally, set off some floodgate from his mouth as the words came pouring without end. One ear slicks back, and Osiris raises his head to watch the peculiar pegasus rush onward verbally, a perplexed expression on his keen face. When the jittery mess of uncertainty finally manages to capture and harness his tongue again, the hybrid is left astounded, looking at him with slightly widened eyes. However, he holds back the laugh which would have grown in his chest, uncertain if Ophelia would handle mirth in her current state of emotions. Looking toward the dual colored eyes of the unicorn, Osiris smiles. "Only a fool throws away gold."
""