As the idea of once again having his sight rested upon his bony shoulders, Myrddin began to grow impatient with his impairment - more so than he ever had before. The emotions wafting from young Sin’s mind almost felt palpable to the older philosopher, and yet he was numb to them. The boy, so quiet and resolved, seemed to hold his emotions behind some screen - opaque enough that Myrddin knew of course something must be there, and yet it was utterly out of his reach. Was the boy soothed? Did he understand, that he was not Pysche nor Mauja’s, but his? That Myrddin was selected by divine intervention, and that to cast away one of his disciples would be akin to blasphemy? But he did not know, for he could not see.

The whole world could be a lie, and Myrddin felt as though he would be none the wiser. Was sight really so important? As the overwhelming urge of being visually suffocated grew within his chest, he believed that it was. It seemed to him, that there was something so fundamental for sighted-creatures about their sight, that they could easily fall into disillusionment when it was taken away.

As the boy offered up his words, the old Philosopher’s heart softened, for it did seem to be that his words had some sort of a calming effect. With a great sigh, Myrddin bobbed his bearded muzzle. The Veins, sir? Myr’s large moose-like ears moved forward to take in the boy’s inquisitive tones, before his pink muzzle spread in a smile. "Oh aye. The Goddess of the Moon and I brokered a deal so that I could regain my sight....and I do believe I have fulfilled by end of the bargain, however...." Nodding a head adorned with a gnarled and twisted horn inwards, towards the Basin, Myr frowned. “However I do not believe the patron of our lands would take too kindly on my calling his sister, using my mirror.”

As he felt young Sin’s shoulder brush against his tired body, Myrddin again sighed. He had never seen Sikar-Sin before. nor had he even so much as conjured up a mental image of him. He was a dark shade in his mental map, having a rough unicorn form, without any features, markings, or even coloration. What did the boy look like? Did Psyche look like? Was their home of slate and cold truly as Myrddin imagined it to be?

Would he like the things he saw?

Leaning his muzzle around to touch the stallion, who Myrddin now learned was slightly shorted than He, he nodded. ”Then let us go youngling...and we shall see...” He cracked a toothy grin at this play on words, as he let himself by led by Zikar-Sin.

[I’ll make us a thread in the Veins? :3]