He snaps at me with an impatience I am unfamiliar with. I flinch as though expecting teeth to clip me rather than hard words, but I haste on with my drawing so he may understand sooner. Truthfully though I am hurt by this... I thought him a brave knight, but perhaps I can forgive the slight in lieu of the hard traveling he must have endured.

I paint and he watches, though he seems not astonished as everyone else. Perhaps someone as knightly and traveled as he has already seen everything there is to see? I wonder if that makes life much more boring? I'm sure it must.

He seems to understand me well enough, softening even as he speaks truthfully. I am shocked to learn his disfigurements have been with him since birth. I frown, pitying him, though I know in my heart I know I shouldn't. It's more of a kinship I feel with him than sadness honestly. He is like me in that respect, an outcast by design. I smile in return to him, flapping my tongue out of my lips, the only thing its good for. Well and tasting, can't forget about sweet grasses and roots. I bob my head, hoping to convey my disadvantage is a similarity to his.

He is hardened by this I assume, which explains his gruff tones. I am weaker than he. I took the route of fear and avoidance where he stands strong against his opposition, staring them down with anger and hatred. I can only mourn my plight and hate myself. How pitiful. I sigh, glancing away to watch the sea drift on and off the shore again.

Sometimes I feel like we're all just little ink drawings drowning in the sea, like that day in the Tides.
I start to draw black ink pooling up and rising like a tide over me, but I let it splash into the beach before it reaches my back. I must not let myself drift in such currents so soon again. Today is a good day! He said I could dream whatever reality I like...

I invite him to walk with me down the shore with a bump of my muzzle and an extension of it towards him, warm breath welcoming as it sighs from my nose. As I turn away the ink behind me runs from my tail. I let it sprout flowers, something I've always found to endure and serve as hope, and even beauty. It doesn't matter I want to tell him. Life remains strong and lovely, even if all its creatures are broken and ugly, we of all the least among them. Too many appear whole but inside are more disturbing than we. He does understand that much, doesn't he?