.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
08-13-2013, 07:33 PM
There's nothing quite like having a guilty conscious. It was with this in mind that the Wild Rose heeded the calling of her name by her tiny captive, though he didn't know it. Zaffre flew before her, settling on the ground before the bay colt with a reassuring warble, curving his tail around himself and sitting much as a cat would, his wings tilted to trail against the ground.
"I hear you, Roux." Stepping from the underbrush, the grulla bent her head down to brush her muzzle against his short mane. "Its alright. Did you rest well?" She reached over him to gentle nose his wounded hoof. "I didn't mean for you to get frightened, child. There's nothing to be scared of here. My herdmates and I may be different than what you're used to, but we would do nothing to harm you, or even let anything else harm you." Her voice was a gentle singsong, attempting to calm his fears.
Deliberately she wove the Moon's healing magic, a winding strand of inky wind that curved around the colt's hoof. "You'll feel better in a moment." Absently she contemplated the thought that another might have delayed the healing further, but she already felt bad enough having to deceive this tentatively trusting soul when any other day she would have mended his hurts and given him a gentle reprimand about being incautious before sending him on his way. Oh, why must war cause us to do these things? Why can't the Basin be content with a home that no one else wants to take from them, and not poke at us at every opportunity?
"I hear you, Roux." Stepping from the underbrush, the grulla bent her head down to brush her muzzle against his short mane. "Its alright. Did you rest well?" She reached over him to gentle nose his wounded hoof. "I didn't mean for you to get frightened, child. There's nothing to be scared of here. My herdmates and I may be different than what you're used to, but we would do nothing to harm you, or even let anything else harm you." Her voice was a gentle singsong, attempting to calm his fears.
Deliberately she wove the Moon's healing magic, a winding strand of inky wind that curved around the colt's hoof. "You'll feel better in a moment." Absently she contemplated the thought that another might have delayed the healing further, but she already felt bad enough having to deceive this tentatively trusting soul when any other day she would have mended his hurts and given him a gentle reprimand about being incautious before sending him on his way. Oh, why must war cause us to do these things? Why can't the Basin be content with a home that no one else wants to take from them, and not poke at us at every opportunity?
