Carrying the Sound

the Rift

Carrying the Sound

Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459

Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5

Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE

Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath Chan

09-09-2015, 10:36 AM

Lace the Silverthorn
It is our actions that define who we are

He hurt like hell. It didn't show, because the skin was unbroken and sleek, void of shedding winter coats, injuries and far less scarred than it ought to be considering his age. But you didn't come within inches of dying without feeling the repercussions, and in this damp weather every muscle and joint reminded him of the price all old warriors payed to live. Even for someone who healed as fast as he did it would take time to fully repair the damage of being repeatedly stabbed, burned and battered, not to mention what it did to your bones to be changed into a different shape. Lace moved like a much older stallion where he shuffled through the forest, and his thoughts were as dark and clouded as the morning sky.

The dragon was quite spirited however, even despite the weather. Her glistening white form flitted merrily back and forth amidst the trees, chasing birds and diving at rodents for nothing more than the simple pleasures of flying. To her, the fight that had nearly cost them both their lives had ended rather well. Her bonded had finally embraced the gift of the Dragonheart and shown his true nature to the world. When faced with the threat of death he had turned into the beautiful Silver she knew to dwell in his heart, and nothing could have made her more proud. He was now truly the Silverthorn, and she ignored his injured, baleful silence as she kept reliving the glorious moment over and over and over again.

When she sensed the presence of a kin up ahead she cheerfully dragged her bonded along to greet them, and arrived with a trilling, jubilant cry that echoed all throughout the woods. Lace eyed her with a rather weary expression as she began to pirouette and dance before the younger red, her attitude far from the humble obeisance she ought to be displaying. He was a red, she was white and thus far outranked - but she was also the friend of a gold, kin-bound to what she perceived as a silver and far older than most of the dragons in Helovia. Where did that place her? Fajira didn't know and didn't care, because she was far too busy retelling the story of the glorious awakening in the haunting, melodic language of the dragons.

He was more interested in the horses that accompanied the foreign dragon. The gloomy expression lifted when the grullo realized that he knew at least one of them - not only that, they had even been friends once. Or as close to friends as you could be, without having spoken much.

"Resplendence. Long time no see. You look well." His smile was soft and warm, yet there was hesitation in his steps and Lace stopped with quite some distance left between them. The guilt was old by now but there none the less. He had left them once, the family once known as Qian. Would she hold it against him now, even though years had passed? Some might, and he confessed he didn't know her well enough to be sure. Did he even deserve to stand there and talk, as though nothing had happened?

She might not even recognize him anymore.

The other, the painted stallion, was given a polite nod, slightly deeper than was strictly necessary. This fellow didn't register in his mind as someone he ought to recognize, and Lace was really not in the mood to pick a fight with anyone.

"Good day to you, sir. I am Lace, a former herdmate of hers. And that" he added dryly, eying the exuberant White as she pranced through the air, "is Fajira."

Maybe he was a bit too polite, but as years and tiredness weighed on his mind he easily fell back into the stiff gallantry he had been raised into. Back in those days his courteous greeting might have landed him in a duel for being short, blunt and exceedingly crude...