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With infinite sadness, Tor watched her daughter's tears fall.
What dejection she felt; despondent, mournful, tragic, regrettable, disgraceful, wretched, despairing of herself and her habits. For had it not become a habit, an awful, horrible, cruel habit of dropping whoever was with her and setting out on irremediable missions to save this or that and try to fix obsolete problems caused from her irresponsible self. Tor felt her own self heating, burning up from the inside out, impossibly hot rage at the fact she left Laila, the daughter she cared for so much, with every inch of her heart, was flooded with tears because of Tor. How could she have done this? Yet the tears fell so silently, without a trembling heave of the ebony chest, a filly turned to stone by Tor's stupidity, not sheltering the dear child so loved. No child should shed tears like she did, a waterfall of misery and regret.
Tor stood, wanting desperately to come, to comfort the mare, to end this quibble and brush away those tears, to nurture her gently and tend to her, love her and let the sincerity of never letting her go wash over her, instead of standing here impassively, as silent and unmoving as the blackened shrine of dragons and twisted metal. Yet when she tried to step forward, to brush her muzzle over her ears and nibble her forelock, to arch her neck and bring the black yearling growing hard too fast in her warm embrace. But she could not move. Her feet were lead; and oddly, her vision was blurring. The mare so fragile nearly wept herself, for the devastation wrecked on her family. How dare she do such an atrocious thing, to ruin and desecrate? For now, every time she was left alone, and even around 'her' herd, she struggled to come to terms with the feelings she had created.
The white lady heard the crackle of twigs and the snap of great hooves, and she turned her head, the wind snarling in her ears, snaring wild fingers in her mane and tail. It was stallion, massive in size and build- but no greater than her own pearl bulk. Yet whereas she was simple alabaster and cream, and equine, he had his own fair differences. Firstly, his mane and tail was deeper than a shade of ebony; his coat was a muted mahogany bay, his eyes very much the same as Tor's. Mostly, what was noticeable was his wings, coarse black feathers coating small, even delicate, appendages. Tor recognized him, a bland figure in her mind, with nothing attributed to him. They had but spoken perhaps a sentence to each other, a formal, stiffly worded introduction, however much kindness may have been portrayed. She knew nothing of his nature, but perhaps the legend title given to him spoke for his personality. Thor the Gentle Heart. But then, Tor could be considered a gentle heart, and it did not speak for her many faults and errors of the past.
Tor studied him with sorrowful eyes, except 'sorrow' was a poor word to convey the sadness and idea of a difficult time ahead. It seemed she was somehow right, in one odd way or another. For he said she mistook regret for resentment, and in that aspect, he was wrong. For resent was bitterness and indignation, at unjust treatment. In no way did she think her treatment was wrong- for the numerous things she had done. She understood the consequences of her actions, albeit not as fully as she should, maybe. Regret, on the other hoof, was the feeling of sadness over something lost. Only one of them suited her correctly right now- like a glove, in fact. "No, Thor the Gentle. Resentment is anger over poor treatment. Regret is sadness. I do not feel anger that horses do not trust me as I trust all around me. No. I have condemned myself, and I only expect this treatment." Tor replied, allowing the slightest edge of anger to enter her voice, most unlike her. "Do not think I am so foolish to expect wholehearted trust, when my own faith is broken." Faith in what, the mare did not say. It was too private to say outloud, or to any other than Destrier.
As for the next question, Tor near-bristled, her ears flicking back and forth. Perhaps she was over reacting, yet she felt as if Thor was attacking her. Had Mirage not told him she was working to gain approval of every horse in the herd? "I most respectfully ask you if you are aware of the fact Mirage has set me with the task to gain approval of each Tier 3 and above member of this herd. Naturally, I do not only hope to complete this, but also regain the trust of those equal to me. Thor, to be frank, I know not how I will gain this. Time is often the best healer. If I may do anything, perhaps, for you, mayhaps I can assist you in some way, or answer any questions, in order to convince you of my determination in this situation, just tell me and I would be most happy to comply." Tor answered, her voice curiously formal, as if slightly closing up.
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