I observe the stallion as he takes the information I proffer him, noting with quiet amusement that while his motion halts, his mind still races. I cannot read thoughts, I do not even pretend to read thoughts, but I am an excellent observer of emotion, of behaviour, of the subtle hints of anxiety and concern, of worry that was yet to be alleviated. He was also in pain, that much was glaringly obvious by the hunched, lopsided way he held himself, the way he favoured one leg slightly more than the other, the way his skin twitched even at the most subtle of gestures. I felt sympathy for him, and a strange sense of sorry, that I could do nothing to cure him of his sores. I suppose I was a selfish being, in that I did not form normal friendships and relationships with my herdmates - I was more of a caretaker for the lands, a groundskeeper, a worshipper and appreciator of the one who have bestowed her mists, winds and darkness upon the lands to provide us with a home. That I felt some kind of remorse for this stallion's situation was a new sensation to me, one I did not expect to feel. I suppose, I am but a mere mortal, despite my long life, prone to mortal feelings. This feeling of helplessness, however, was new to me. Normally I had a solution for everything, or else I was never posed with a problem that I could not see the answer to.

I wondered what I could do for my herdmate, to help his pain. My words seemed to have a positive effect upon him, and for that I was glad. He asked a question then, which gave hints to the worry that plagued him. I hoped I would be able to aid him in answering them. With my insight to the mists, and my familiarity with some of those who had fought in the invasion, I knew just what had unfolded on our borders. "It was the former inhabitants of this land who led the invasion, aided by the mercenaries of the Foothills." I spoke simply, supplying the facts with an air of surety. As for the matter of our prisoners... "With the distraction of the fighting, those who call themselves Assassins seemed to have disappeared." I did not know the exact method they had chosen to escape - I assume they used the preoccupation we had with defending the borders to their advantage. "As for any new prisoners, that would be up to our Leader to decide." I finish quietly, wondering just what our WeyrLeader intended on doing with the prisoners she had obtained from the Basin recently. I suspected she would not be concerned with the disappearance of the Assassins; their imprisonment had served it purpose for long enough.

"Do you wish for me to seek a healer?" I ask, offering to act as a messenger for perhaps the first time in my life. In thinking about it, however, I suppose I am merely a glorified messenger, a voice to the Goddess who watches over us above, a translator and communicator, a bridge between mortals and their immortal Gods.

It was a curious notion for me to ponder.