Nothing cares to stare him in the eyes, the cold, distant essence that resided inside a green orb having departured with the lost night. In the night, he faced things unnatural and unreal, but they were taken with greed. Greed lead to a point that he remembers merely because of his wound, each day slowing returning to a new state. It'd leave a nasty scar, one that will never go away, all because he didn't speak enough.
A scream, lively and clearly female, overruns the marsh. Corpses floated up with the early summer storms, adding to the feeling of looming death in this place. That noise makes itself a cherry to top it off.
While he remains a shackled body, broken and falling apart, there is a fire in him that draws out curiousity and calls him in. Wispy fingers all but skin and bones motion beside his head, asking for him to follow. The resting place surrounded by bones, his grave is given up without complaint. Scinfaxi hushes himself, emotion falling away from his face. Dread coats the air as if this something horrible that would affect all of them for the rest of their lives. The only one with emotion now is The Unknown, who stands there in the bone pits smiling. Shimmers of light upon his scalp-made teeth give away his exact location.
Bones snap and pop as movement refills their joints. His body strains and asks for forgiveness as he steps out, looking for the source. The single ear pricks up, listening for more noises. What he finds is not in his best interests, but when he finds what was left for him, he stays. Staying would keep trouble from arising later on.
In a heap and laying on her side, is the mare he'd gotten pregnant. Their last meeting was shortlived, stern for her end, not giving much of a shit for his end. Beside her stands a foal, almost a yearling, with a dog. His green eyes lock upon her for a few moments, Scinfaxi taking wasting no time. 'Just ignore it.' Shajake does as asked, following orders as if there was going to be a treat at the end of the rope. There never was, but all have the endless right to dream, to grasp thoughts that much them happy so that they don't have to face the harsh world anymore. Dreaming kills the soul slowly, strangling the will out of it until everything is lost, and it wilts.
Attention shifts to the mare whose name he lacks knowledge of. She is still pregnant, and clearly in labor. Some part of him finds a shit to give, calling him to be by her side through this process. Each green eye lingers on her, silenting asking her if she is alright. His face is lifeless, dead and silent as the wound acts as a barrier from the leaking of emotion. He finds the might to ask that damned question, just because she was going to need it if things would be good between them.
"A.... Alll....... Rye...... T?"
Each word stutters out, as graceful as a newborn Giraffe. Attention set forth towards her, the only thing he is caring about in these moments are that child. Silence cannot reach him, for the disease wants to be so lively at the sight of a brand-new life entering the world before it.
'Do you think it will be a boy or girl?' Girl? 'A pretty one, hopefully.'



"talk talk talk"