He snorted at the sound of their self-appointed queen's name, a sharp and derisive sound that spoke volumes about his current opinion of her. Withdrawing the head from the window - with some difficulty as the crown of antlers had a tendency to get stuck in things - he backed up and clopped swiftly across the floor of the building, came down the steps and moved closer to the mare so that they could keep talking without looking like a shopkeep and his customer.

"Best for her that she keep staying away, after leaving us in the wind like that" he growled in belated response, stopping just short of his company's reach - he'd never quite figured out whether she was tolerant of him or not. "The only reason I've been coming here is in the hopes that she will turn up so that I can kick her ass... and in case someone else comes by." He bent the neck and adjusted the grinning mask against a black knee, his silence containing endless amounts of questions. Why had Sheba stopped coming, why had she left, what were she doing that was so important that a goodbye took too much of her time, where had she been staying all this time...

"You don't care for the Regime anymore, do you?" he soon blurted, unable to hide neither his accusing tone nor the disappointment he felt. Morir had put so much hope and trust into this project, and to see it crumble with no attempts from anyone to pick up the reins and try again was just heartbreaking. "What have you been up to anyway, you've been just as absent as the rest; I haven't seen hide nor hair of Tyradon, Veil or Farkas for seasons, and the same goes for Moniz, Morana, Adele or Cyrus..."

He huffed out the names, each absent member only deepening the sense of betrayal and loss that he felt. Just the fact that the dark, ominous looking stallion had remembered all of them was a clear sign of his devotion, his sheer effort in regards to this makeshift, dysfunctional jest of a family. It hadn't been perfect, it hadn't even been great most of the time... but for the young heathen this nest of thieves and murderers, luck-seekers and troublemakers had been home, the first real one he'd had since his parents died.

If only there had been someone left with interest in the mission, with enough drive to keep trying for that elusive dream of a home that was their own, taken by their own strength... He could have led them. He could have done what Confutatis failed to do! But the house had crumbled, the door hung open and only dust gathered in the corners of their once glorious dream, and the beast was left cold, alone and disappointed. The happiness he'd felt upon recognizing the horned mare died away, his demeanor growing cold, rigid; baring down on her with those empty, eye-less pits he awaited her reply with the air of a man who couldn't care less - nothing she said would be good enough anyway, he thought.


@[Sheba]

"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"