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07-16-2016, 11:24 AM
She’s awfully cocksure for someone without that particular appendage, but her concessions and eventual apology seem genuine, so the stallion lets his offense subside, watching again as her mismatched eyes poke and prod, taking what measures they can of him. He wonders what she sees over there, planted firmly in her own point of view. He wonders how much of him is visible from the outside. Can she see the man he used to be, the one who loved and strove for perfection, the one who put all others before himself, the man who lost it all and died a lonely, frozen death? - Or can she only see the jaded one, the man who shivered and wept and continued walking to spite the world?
He mulls that over a moment, turning his gaze to catch the hollows between his ribs, the protrusion of his hip bones, not quite so shocking as when he’d first lain in the Threshold, but still readily apparent. The auburn curtain of his beard is dull, knotted in places, the hair dry and stiff where once a healthy gleam had shown. He would have been embarrassed once, mortified to portray anything but idealistic success in life. Now he just feels empty, devoid of feeling or motivation, even the gnawing hunger that should instinctively rise to combat his leanness silent.
His tone when he speaks again is flat, empty like his heart and stomach. “My dreams are vivid, but not bright, not hopeful.” Surely the filly has experienced nightmares before? “Maybe that’s what you see in me and call darkness.” He looks up at her then, catches sight of the small trinket of wood and twine tied into her mane. “You have time enough to learn about this world on your own, but-“ Apathy turns to anger and he knows rationally, logically, she’s not the one at fault, but she’s the one in front of him right now, the one asking silent questions with her eyes, making him remember those things he’d rather forget. “If you’re so inclined, you’re welcome to see for yourself.”
His chin juts out in challenge, motioning toward the dreamcatcher. “If you really are ‘fire made flesh,' maybe you’ll fare better than I do.” He looks away then, the admission of his struggles tender and fearful, tears threatening to brim across the tension in his eyes, but he's still no child and mastery of himself, though rarely exercised now, is a lesson he learned long ago. No moisture stains his grizzled cheeks.
OOC // Alby gives permission for Aelin to watch his dream. (Obvs he doesn't understand what all that involves, but just fyi). @Aelin
He mulls that over a moment, turning his gaze to catch the hollows between his ribs, the protrusion of his hip bones, not quite so shocking as when he’d first lain in the Threshold, but still readily apparent. The auburn curtain of his beard is dull, knotted in places, the hair dry and stiff where once a healthy gleam had shown. He would have been embarrassed once, mortified to portray anything but idealistic success in life. Now he just feels empty, devoid of feeling or motivation, even the gnawing hunger that should instinctively rise to combat his leanness silent.
His tone when he speaks again is flat, empty like his heart and stomach. “My dreams are vivid, but not bright, not hopeful.” Surely the filly has experienced nightmares before? “Maybe that’s what you see in me and call darkness.” He looks up at her then, catches sight of the small trinket of wood and twine tied into her mane. “You have time enough to learn about this world on your own, but-“ Apathy turns to anger and he knows rationally, logically, she’s not the one at fault, but she’s the one in front of him right now, the one asking silent questions with her eyes, making him remember those things he’d rather forget. “If you’re so inclined, you’re welcome to see for yourself.”
His chin juts out in challenge, motioning toward the dreamcatcher. “If you really are ‘fire made flesh,' maybe you’ll fare better than I do.” He looks away then, the admission of his struggles tender and fearful, tears threatening to brim across the tension in his eyes, but he's still no child and mastery of himself, though rarely exercised now, is a lesson he learned long ago. No moisture stains his grizzled cheeks.
OOC // Alby gives permission for Aelin to watch his dream. (Obvs he doesn't understand what all that involves, but just fyi). @Aelin
![[Image: 56c616e54affc]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/56c616e54affc)
