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It was like a car crash - she knew she should look away, rip her gaze from something she knew would trouble her for the rest of her days, yet found herself unable to turn her head. She knew she should leave before hearing the answer to the question, go before her opinion of this man was ruined forever, yet she couldn't. Then he spoke, and her decision was made for her - as, after all, it would just be rude to leave when he was mid-sentence. He talked of a war, and Nyx's greedy ears pivoted towards the words, absorbing them. "Did you win?" she asked, before she lost her nerve again. Our traditional enemy is not equine—but no less alive. She wondered at this statement, tried to twist it every way to determine what he had meant by it. She smothered the urge to ask, feeling like she had peppered him with quite enough questions. For now. He continued, and the soldier listened in stoic silence. "I believe you. Isn't every soldier fighting for peace?" she asked, rhetorical; her razor-quick mind fed her mouth with words before she even had time to judge if she wanted to say them. That often happened to her, leading to her reknowned lack of tact and knack of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. But peace was a funny word - everybody said they craved it, yet even when they had it they were just a stone's throw away from another war. No sentient race could ever be truly at peace, as there was always going to be conflict over territory, resources, mates. With her species, though, the largest battles seemed to arise from the most petty - in her opinion - things; a shard of bone on one's head, or lack of. How could such a war ever be resolved? Short of eradicating everything without a horn - genocide that did not even bear thinking about - there was always going to be another skirmish, another equine or pegasus in the wrong place at the wrong time. There would always be lives to lose, as long as there were racial differences in the world. It was a miserable outlook, one Nyx tended not to think about, but which had been driven to the fore by her intellectual conversation with Mauja. "What of the children? Have you ever aimed your horn at a foal?" She was getting deeper and deeper into shark-infested waters, pressing harder and harder until something had to give, and her urge to bolt was rising by the second. But still the car crash happened in front of her, blood and death flying everywhere, and she still couldn't tear herself away. |
Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.
