Her eyes run over him in a way that make him think that he is a stranger to her in more ways than just the literal – and while she is unique in her coloration, he has seen passive magic (his uncle trails snow much as this woman trails water) and he has, unfortunately, seen those starved near enough to death as she is. That she stands is a sign of her will power to survive, and he wonders, as the question falls from his lips, how many of them died in that strange place before the Spark saved them, and how many more were suffering still beyond.

His smile remains when she answers his question with another, nearly chuckling in good humor as he pondered over each inquiry, the last especially.

He hadn’t really thought of that, really.

He supposes as he thinks about it that it was a minor declaration of war against whatever Gods ruled the other land – but he couldn’t help but remain steadfastly in the belief that, whether the Helovian divines had started it or not, these Gods of the Rift had it coming.

Just look at yourself, he almost said out loud, what just being with the power to save you would not do so?

"He seems to have a thing for the down trodden," I say instead with a fond smile, drawing upon the tale of his leading Mauja and Psyche, along with my mother’s people, to the Basin a long time before I was born, "and it could be this Rift was interfering with Helovia itself, so the Gods initiated contact. There have been many strange magical fluctuations over the last few years."

Of course, he’s only two – he has no fucking clue what he’s talking about, except from remembered excerpts of stories he’s heard throughout his life. And, to be sure, he’s heard many of them, and most are true… but we’ll understand if Ming Yue thinks the little haughty stag is full of himself.

He was about to answer her question about where it was he lived when she quite suddenly collapsed.

His eyes widen broad, their gold depths suddenly alive with chivalrous action as he attempts to step forward and catch her – to no avail, for her slender frame crashes to the ground anyway, leaving him fretfully hovering over the figure of the fallen princess.

The chocolate and ebony adolescent hadn’t realized she was so near collapsing – he’d have hurried up his introductions, hurried along to guide her to the mountain and one of the numerous unicorn healers he’d seen trundling through the vale to and from the healer’s cavern, or something. He’d have at least offered her a shoulder to lean on.

"Time’s Beard! Are you okay?" he asks, the old expression slipping from his lips (his own curl of a beard sprouting from the curve of his dark chin), her soft sigh and apologetic glance not doing much for his nerves.

He looks up, trying to get a glimpse at the horizon and failing for a good while before, at last, finding a place where he can gauge the sun’s distance. It’s a bit late to try and rush all the way home, he thinks, but surely they’ll find a branch of the river which runs through the Thistle Meadow along the way, the season perfect for the nourishment of a starved creature such as the fallen mare.

"The Aurora Basin, my herd land, isn’t far," he says as he looks back down at her, "you wanna try to make it there? I know of a few good places to rest along the way.”


[ OOC: He has spark/dark magic that allows him to manipulate other’s bodies; with your permission, of course, he can use it to help her limp along. He’s not really aware of it, so it will be sporadic and probably during times that she really needs the extra oomph. :3 ]