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08-22-2014, 11:24 AM
The group is small, but varied: Midas in all his glory, muscular and winged; another pegasus mare with only one wing, lacking the quiet strength of our Czar; the rather plain-looking equine who resided in the Falls as our Storyteller; myself, an oddly-coloured unicorn half-made of glass; and, of course, the subject of my ministrations, Laedere. Laedere is lovely, or would be if she was not so broken. She is only just taller than I and is winged, though we match in many other ways. Her eyes, too, are pupil-less, and though mine are violet and hers are pink, I am intrigued by the similarity. There are not many in Helovia that I have seen with this feature. She is pale, with splashes of pale green along her haunches and strange markings around her eyes and on her left foreleg. That makes two of us who are oddly coloured; she with her green, and I with my teal. The most interesting aspect of her appearance, though, is her wing. Bloodied and bandaged, long since injured (or so it appears to me), I am skeptical of my ability to do any more than has been done. Wounds were difficult to stitch together again, particularly the longer they sat - if I am to do anything at all, I will have to burn away scar tissue and Gods know what else before I can even begin to call the skin back together. Even then, the feathers will not grow back, and I an do very little about the missing flesh. I catch the last part of the conversation, the Storyteller's pale blue voice explaining our rank system. I wonder if this means the broken pegasus is here to stay. "And you, Midas," I return his golden greeting with a smile - the first true smile I've given since our meeting not so very long ago. There is something about him, you know, something that makes me want to dissolve the mask I wear around everyone else. I pause for a moment, allowing the swirling colours of our environment - emerald foliage, royal waters, brilliant flickers of bird song - to calm me. Then, I respond - but I do not speak to Midas. I speak to Laedere. "I can try to mend your wing, but I cannot promise that it will be successful. It looks like an older wound, so there is likely to be scar tissue from previous healing or treatment. I will have to use my magic to remove this scar tissue before I can begin to stitch the skin anew; and even then, I cannot regrow the missing flesh and feathers. That is beyond my capabilities. I can make it so that you will not need the bandage, but I will not do so without your permission. I am sorry," I add, glancing at Midas and feeling oddly guilty for something that is out of my control. "I wish I could do more." "Talk talk talk." |
