Pressing close, what a child would normally do to their mother in times of distress. For Onni, this is a strange embrace, one she is not used to, nor is she equipped to process. There could be no doubt that Kri loved her child, for here the shaman stood. This affection, however, displayed itself in different ways than the usual. A sort of strength unknown to the healer could be found in this fond touch, the warmth of another's skin, of another's breath upon your skin. Familiarity with affection is new, foreign, but warm. Warm, like the caress of sunlight upon bodies starved for the light.

How it reminded the Illuminant of the very presence she craved, the Sun.

Torturously slow, the healer lowers her crown, renouncing her hope that the light would come to her in this moment. Silently, quietly, she pleads her heart to stay just a little longer. Remain strong, hold out, for the Sun will surely rise again. No void, no distance could keep the Father of Light from the side of his children. Arrogant, fiery, impestuous, the God of the Sun also had a deep caring side. He would return, but only when it would be safe for him to do so. The important detail is not when, just that, without fail, he would arrive home. Onni would just have to wait to receive him once more with an open heart and a smile.

Eyes upon her, words slurring in her ears, ears clamped tight against her skull, willing the silence to grow. Willing for this unicorn to go and leave. A healer's soul, but not in this moment, when her home was nearly ripped from under her hooves. All for the sake of violence, it seemed; violence so clearly written across the bleeding wounds of her body, the aches of her bruises, the scabs just beginning to form around the coagulated blood. Ash, tears, and blood staining her coat. She felt dirty, tired, and sad. The soft touches of Muriel leave spots of warmth, though, and the shaman is truly grateful for the pink tinted mare.

As the unicorn approaches, Onni shrinks back away from her touch, not wishing to feel the embrace of this girl. Not wishing to have a unicorn touch her in any familiar way. They are not friends, not after the way the mare looked at her with violent eyes in the dark during her weakest moment. Not after her body is covered in cuts from a horn so similar. She backs away, not understanding, not responding until Muriel's voice calls her back from a void of thought.

I I won't let you be alone in the darkness. A meek smile, shy like the sun peeking through clouds, casts shadows of pain on her face, a grimace at the tear of her wound upon her jaw. More tears, more anger, more pain, more sorrow. At least she was not alone.

"My home, Muriel," she says, voice like sand in her throat. "They tried to take my home." And I am no better, stooping to the level of our assailants. I am no better.

In the distance, the trill of a songbird. Lyhty's tiny wings carrying him as quickly after his bonded as he could manage.