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05-25-2015, 12:38 AM
Sikeax Turn everything off And just cover your neck Cause life is full of your regrets | ||
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Her baby. Sikeax had never known what real, true love was. She knew the love that her mother had given her for a short period of time when she remained glued to Adrixaura's side, the feelings that fluttered in her heart at the rare sight of a true friend, someone she actually trusted, and the warm, happy sensation that Amara was kind enough to settle into her chest. What Amara did place in her heart could indeed be considered love when all of the affections and time spent together was added up, but that was still a benign thing to her even now, something that she'd chosen to let take it's course with her in tow regardless of what it might bring in the future. A velvet muzzle presses into his scale-covered hide. In return, he pours out a low purring sound into their closed space, pressing into her stomach even more. With him, the world fades, drowning out the distant sounds of shallow raindrops repeating the same, tiresome rhythm over again for an endless amount of decades, followed by the drums of thunder and the vocals of lightning. Together, they almost don't catch the faint whisper of the tiger mare's voice until it's too late, invaded by their company at a time of privacy. It feels him with rage and she is almost victim to it as the weight of his emotions is just too strong. A snarl rips from his lips. Embarrassed, she only nods to her visitor as she stands, wincing shortly as Hobgoblins digs his claws into her amber hide, head twisted about to glare at the tigress. She allows water to be sprayed on her in silence. His anger ticks away like a time bomb inside while she desperately tries to soothe the flames. Any bit of affection that might of rested in their bond previously has gone to the grave, sleeping soundly as it rots and decays, crumbling between her weak fingers when she looks to hold it just one more time. The conversation goes straight to the dead. Why must she, as a healer, be expected to know every single death that occurs in the world? Was she expected to keep up with the numbers? Be their guardians and guide into the afterlife when her sole purpose to save their lives? She is no failure. Her patients haven't died on her yet. She refuses to let death take them from her, clinging onto their life force with a raging flame meant to burn away the hand of death dare it even try to take them away from her. She will not them die at her hands. She will lead them back into recovery even if it meant going to begging. Any healer who dared to let their patients pass on without a fight didn't deserve their title, yet alone the time wasted over learning herbs and remedies, both diseases of mind and body, all the things that might destroy one's good health. Through all of the hate that suddenly fills her, definitely driven on by her companion, Hobgoblin keeps himself locked onto the mare, drowning out the emotions that he has funneled into her as they come back around into him. A heavy, thick huff flares her nostrils and pushes her chest out, trying to speak non-verbally that she took that whole thing as an insult. "No, none of them have died on me. As a healer, you can't think of death, especially around your patients. You make them think you're going to kill them, and if you kill your patient without effort, then you don't deserve to even aid the wounded." Why is she so harsh as of the recent times? Why must her words be so cruel when she is used to be reserved and fearful? What has driven the change into her heart? "Only one has come to me, asking to die. He was kind enough and far enough down that I was able to guide some sort of hope into his heart and allow me to heal him." A faint memory of the dark stallion feels her mind for a short second. "As for the others, no corpses have littered our borders, or at least I don't want to see them and ignore their presence altogether." The next part catches her off guard. Did someone else care about helping the wounded for once? It seemed that all of her healers had abandoned her, leaving her to tend to any wounded that was thrown into the Dragon's Throat alone. Everyone seemed to forget that there was a breaking point for every soul that when it's limits were exceeded could lead to the ruin of a soul, mind, and body. "If you don't have a weak stomach, it'd be nice if you could help look for the wounded needing aid along the border and assist them in crossing over the waters." Lightning shatters the sky as a screech flees from Hobgoblin. Mothering instinct sets in, nickering softly as her mane is altered with his grip, shivering as his barbed tail trails her neck. "Unless you know something about herbs, or want to learn about them, arrangements could be made to work with the healing process." As if she could ever encourage a priest to take part in such a delicate task; the most she could see the mare taking part in was the final blessing, and while her confidence was strong in her abilities, a touch of worry and fear always made the drive to save a life stronger. OOC: I got feels from this for no reason. xc Apologies for making you wait! @[Maren] images | ||
