The light bending through the boughs of the trees distorts, swirls, lifts, drawing new pictures in my hazy vision.  The wound on my shoulder aches, but I am distant, feeling nothing of the heat pulsating through my body.  I shiver occasionally, having no control to stop such a thing.

Much to my surprise, Ashamin remained quiet throughout much of the journey.  I am glad, for the irritation rendered from the interactions in this wood thus far wilted my already waning energy.  Now, I mirror the silence, focusing on the sunlight glowing on his painted back, trying to stay awake.  The pace is slow, for my benefit, and I am silently thankful for this as well.  Leaving behind the shadow mare with her pure intentions and hard teal eyes, I am now left to reflect upon my actions.

More disturbing, the presence I am trying to ignore, the flickering golden figure being formed out of light at my side.  She is a ghost.  Nothing but a ghost.  Do not look at her face.
I am dying, wavering between the living and the dead.  It makes sense the dead are reaching out to me now, with soft arms, trying to pull me over.
The soft chirps of birds warp into laughter, chiding at my poor attitude, at the pile of trash I had become.  I cannot wait to be rid of this fever and the painful reminder that I am nothing but a failure.

"Ryouta."

I shut my eyes, continuing to step forward, shaking my head.
As I open them again, I had nearly walked straight into Ashamin's ass, but my slowed movements halt immediately.  I search his face as he speaks, trying to capture the tones that fill the space between us.  He introduces this place as the Blood Falls, and a crackling laugh escapes my dry throat.  How fitting, not that he would really understand why.

"Hai," I say in return to his attempt to quell my fears about the deep crimson of the water.  "I understand - thanks."

I walk forward, dropping my head wearily toward the blood colored surface of the water, and gently dip my muzzle into the liquid.  The cool burst hits my throat painfully at first, but eventually levels off as a soothing sensation.  It is around now that I realize the glimmering ghost has disappeared, leaving me alone in the forest with the limp horned unicorn.  Off the brink of life, but still not out of the woods, I suppose.

My ears flicker toward Ashamin as he speaks again, but my lips do not break from the rippling surface of water.  I do not know how long I drank from the crisp liquid waters.  After minutes, hours, years, I lift my head and lazily let water ooze from my lips back to the surface.  "I am already dying," I say, my voice quite abrupt, but a smirk twists the edges of my lips.  "Not like I have much to lose by following you."

Despite the rather noncommittal tone of my voice, my back leg cocks to reveal that I am indeed relaxed, perhaps for the first time since Ashamin laid eyes on my weak form.  "You should really consider a change of heart, though.  Helping ungrateful asses can't be a good hobby."  I look out at the falls, watching the crashing water form thick mists which wrap us in a cool respite.

""

The air quickly turns into something far more playful than it had been in the Threshold.  Likely, the removal of the giant chip from my shoulder had everything to do with this turn of events.  Ashamin himself seemed like a kind soul, willing to put up with and aid someone as callous and brutish as myself.  Instead of thanking him directly, my praise comes in the form of a shift in attitude.
After all, being around too many people tends to make me anxious like a caged animal.  It had been that way for many years now, and normally the anxiety made me lash out at undeserving folks.
Well, some of them surely had been deserving.

"A comedian, I see," is my response to his description of our journey here.  The tone isn't hostile, but strangely flat in the rather lighthearted air.  Maybe I am just tired from my wound; maybe I am just tired of life.

His next monologue would have driven someone else to attempt to comfort the painted brute, probably.  Instead, I watch him with mismatched eyes and a blank expression.  The words seemed strangely downtrodden for a soul like this painted man.  Even though I had just met Ashamin, he seemed unlikely to fall prey to self-loathing and doubt.  Whatever happened in his past, I could not see, but had I been able to, I would relate well to the imagery of blood.  Even standing here, in front of a large river of ruby painted water, made me feel this whole situation was ironic.  I am not stranger to bloodshed.  I have never shed a tear for the wounds I inflicted, the lives I took.  I never felt anything except a strange version of relief.
Now, looking into the pool which reminds me of my past, I feel a little queasy about my past life.  Maybe I really have died, and instead of heaven, I have arrived at some bizarre intermission.
I certainly don't feel like myself.

"I wouldn't dwell on it so much," I offer, though I make no attempt to clarify why.
Like I said, I'm not trying to comfort him.

When the painted stallion's face returns to a stoic calm, I sense that my healer is coming.  Whatever connection Ashamin had to his companions, as he called them, it must be strong, for he draws back up into himself, leaving none of the painful expressions on his features.  Something stirs in me then, like I feel strangely connected to this stallion who doesn't even know my fucking name.  Maybe my anonymity offered him a stage to air his inner thoughts, or maybe my devil may care attitude.  Whatever it is, I am confused.
I don't want people relying on me.  I cannot be relied on.  I am a failure, more than he would ever guess.

From the shadows of the trees arrives another stallion, long and angled strangely.  His limbs flow much like Ashamin's awkward tail, and I find myself wanting to laugh at the odd appearance and amble of his gait.  I do not, maybe because I am tired, but an amused smile does flash across my lips for the briefest of moments.
A bundle of herbs falls near my hooves, and I feel relieved the white stallion does not ask me to chew his wood, like Lyanna had.

"Ryouta," my name extends in return for the healer's - Seanan, and though I am speaking to the tall skeletal man, my eyes focus primarily on Ashamin.  Perhaps, I am trying to make up for my terrible attitude later, but I felt that I owed the Clovenheart my name, at least.  "Yes, feel free to do whatever you need.  Arigatou."

I extend my wing back to reveal the jagged line sweeping from my shoulder to my barrel, my eyes turning back toward the pool of blood.  "Let me know if you need me to move or do anything to make it easier."
Thinking back, maybe I should have taken advantage of Lyanna's numbing herb.  However, it was too late.  Like many decisions in my life:
I made my bed, now I have to lay in it.

""

---

ooc -- sorry it took a bit. Work is being a pain.

The air quickly turns into something far more playful than it had been in thIt's an awful sensation, your skin being clawed at from the inside. My eyes remain open, fixed upon the soft surface of the ruby pool as the scab holding in disease, dirt, filth, tears from flesh.

A mixture of yellow, brown and crimson slides and oozes easily from the wound with slight pressure, and my shoulder twitches against my will with the force of the pain. It slides with the water down my already stained white leg, the scent of decaying flesh filling the air more strongly than before. I feel in my heart the beating of a man alive, but emotionally the cleaning of the wound, the fixing of my mortality, brings me closer to feeling dead than I had for a while.

Ryouta, nakanmon.
Softly, softly her voice drifts into my thoughts and curls around my psyche like a warm blanket. The narration of my medic cannot reach me, and instead I find myself drifting into the past. The pool of blood near my hooves takes me back to her own, quietly usurping the pale figure on the ground. Her sightless eyes closed tightly, her breathing ragged and shallow. When I had fallen to my knees at her side, she had smiled, like my very presence were enough to clot her blood and make her whole again.
Ah, but even in those last few moments I could not fulfill her wish. My eyes ran thick with tears, my muzzle covering the smile. Rain fell on her face from my own sorrow, and yet, she still willed me to be happy.
I am not happy, nor do I think I could ever be.

At some point, the tears from my past slip through the cold, emotionless exterior in my present. One slides down my cheek and hits the floor before I realize. I shut my eyes for a second, opening them back up to Seanan, whose rose eyes find mine as his words are directed at me. Surprised, I look back to my shoulder, wondering how long my musings had captured my attention.
"I understand," is all I can manage, my eyes coming to rest upon the thin structure of his face. "Thank you."

When he speaks of pain, I shake my head. "I prefer it," I say quite flatly, my tone revealing nothing but maybe the drying streak on my cheek would. "Pain is a good reminder." Again, like much of my dialogue, I make no attempt to explain to them. I found that many people felt sympathetic to my story up to a point, and I could garner their love and warmth at the mention of grief.
I do not want their attentions, their affections. I want hers, but we both know that is not possible.

Instead, I stand here, a bandage on my former death sentence. The painted stallion asks me if I feel better, and I laugh, a hollow and ugly sound. "Yeah, I am fine now."
Like I thought, I can't die so easily.

He needn't worry. I knew if I told him so, he would probably only worry all the more. For whatever reason, Ashamin seems quite unable to leave well enough alone. That is evidenced in our short period of being together. I feel that if I had met him when I was younger, newer, with innocent eyes and my warmer heart, we could have been friends. Now, I don't know what I would call our relationship. Ashamin is too kind for me, and I am not quite selfish enough to take full advantage of that.
As much as I want to be a lone glacier, I feel that my icy exterior is quickly melting.

"I will stay here for a while," I say, looking at the glimmering pool in the dim light of the forest. I pause, trying to recall what that white ghost of a stallion had called this place. "Helovia - I mean."

My eyes falls on them for a brief moment before I turn, my wings folding gently upon my back and shielding the bandaged wound, hooves taking me slowly to follow the riverbed farther south. "Maybe, I'll see you around."
The words are half-hearted, but they reveal a little bit more about myself than I'd like. Somewhere, I think I want to see the awkward healer and the bleeding heart again.
This never would have happened in Eikkahn. Why am I trying to get closer to others?
They only bring trouble.
""

---

ooc -- I don't mind either way, Jen, lol. Ryouta is out~

nakanmon = don't cry anymore