The arrival of another soon came after Jaydan's landing. He flicked his ears back in acknowledgement of the fellow warrior, but Jaydan was intent upon their general. Questions burned on his tongue but he swallowed them down, happy to just get answers to the ones he'd already asked. Azzuen remained silent however, his eyes seeming to suggest the blue be patient. Flicking his tail anxiously Jaydan did just that.

He let slip his attention to the painted stud as he spoke. A single ear tipped towards Midas, but Jaydan was still half attentive to Azzuen. It didn't help that Midas tried to start conversation with a dull topic. How am I? Jaydan wondered if Midas really wanted to know, or if he was just being well-mannered. Because if Midas wanted the truth then Jaydan would tell the paint that he was still torn up on the inside, body and mind an equal disaster that tends to come when your heart is shattered. He would say that grass is no longer sweet and water not refreshing. That the wind feels cold even in Tallsun and yet the sunshine brings him no warmth. That every day he has to literally force himself to get up, because in many respects it would feel better to stay in the sand and let the red grit bury him.

He would tell Midas that he walked a thin line between the edge of composure and flat out hysterical insanity. Right now, at this very moment, Jaydan wasn't even entirely sure Midas was real. For all Jaydan could guess he was sleeping - of course that couldn't be, he could not rest in wake or slumber, too many memories of horrific nature haunted him. This led to immense sleep deprivation that was only feeding the strength of his nightmares. They came like hallucinations, fooling all his senses and betraying his rationality and logic.

Azzuen could be Azzuen or he could just be a rock. If not a rock then perhaps Azzuen was the general of Salka, prepping them all for war? Luin would be here soon then...

That's what starts it all over again. Her name, her face, her voice, her touch.
He breaks beneath her over and over again. Every night, every day he remembers her and he sobs with a mournful, wrecking noise of despair in lieu of her aching absence. She is his catalyst and sends him back into the ring of fire to burn, burn, burn.

Just like Salka burned.
Azzuen isn't Azzuen. He is Inaly, ridden by Panat.
It isn't the Qian that needs help, it's the hunters. They've seen the torch fires of the trolls in the morning mist.
Will they ride?
Of course!
That is what they do. No matter the hour, no matter the cost - they ride.

Luin is upon him. Her hands are steady and firm, but her legs loose and weary. She is tired. The attacks have been coming more often and she is pushing herself too far too often. Jaydan nickers worriedly at her but she reins him around all the same. A whistle parts her lips and Jaydan rises on blue wings. All around them feathers dance in the fog as the army rises. They are swift as they cut through the air - angry.


Jaydan blinks.
He's risen into the air above the group. The tree tops are gone, only desert below. The army is absent, only confused pegasus below him. Luin is gone.
Luin is gone.

With a sorrowful sigh Jaydan drops back down to where he'd been standing, eyes downcast to burn holes into the red dirt by his toes.
"Ready,"

Jaydan says at long last to Midas' question.
No, Midas doesn't truly want to know how Jaydan is, no one does. They just want him better. But no one's told him how to get better.
No one ever taught him how to live without a soul, how to remain without a heart, how to survive without purpose.

He shuts them all away behind his eyes. The memories come back faster that way, but he holds them at bay with a little nugget of anger. So he is able to listen to the words of Azzuen, and without even realizing it, swears his horn to the fray.
"Will fly with Azzuen."

You face no opponent more dangerous than one who has nothing left to lose. When nothing remains to tie someone to their mortal existence, if death has become a greater relief than living, then you have no hope of victory, not against someone who has lost the ability to care.