'Not at all, I was just- Oh no! Are you alright?' here was a splendid example of what I had not wanted to happen. My intention of avoiding this form of interaction had been arduous and planned, avoiding equine that might try to reach out to the 'poor unfortunate soul!' I was not poor, nor was I unfortunate. I was, however, young and brazen, earning me a trophy in which to bring home to Mother (where are you?). somewhere at the back of my skull I refused to believe she was gone, a hard, heavy presence that refused to quite settle down. How could this girl know that though? She knew nothing, only what her gentle eyes told her as she turned her body around to face me. "I am okay I was- oh..." She was already moving on to the next phase of concern, even as I parted chapped lips to respond. Along with her name and a slew of other titles I could not place, she offered her help, aide to the crippled filly who obviously should not have been out here alone! (No! Don't think like that.) how could I not? (She is only trying to help, she means no harm!).

"It's only some bruising really, it probably looks worse than it is." And if worse meant excruciating and unnaturally painful than yes, it must have looked pretty nasty. How often does one come across bruising caused by fire, or electricity I should say. That filly, whoever she might be, had been merciless and crass in her treatment of me, especially considering I had only been trying to mind my own business. Talking that way though, throwing such crude and thoughtless insults? How could anyone condone such behavior? Where was her Mother to smack some respect into that wagging tongue? Then again, I suppose at this point I was in no position to be pointing fingers. I had not exactly put myself out there as a stellar example of mannered and 'well-behaved.' My own Mother would likely be appalled to know I had had such little self-control and even had the gall to get physical with things. But Sialia was not here was she? She was gone, missing without a trace and when I found her, I was surely not going to tell her where I got this ugly wound. "I am... Bathsheba of, well, the Basin."

At this point every breath was more of a wince, inhaling air into shredded lungs, injured by several days of heat and a sore lack of water. There were so many things I could have used right about now, a nice massage, a drink that lasted longer than a few sips, and a gentle nose to tell me how everything was going to be okay. A thick body to rest beside as the world slowly settled itself back into proper order. Pale eyes observe the filly, Erthë, as she moves closer. Her face was soft, apologetic even as my eyes traveled down that delicate chest to note the limp impeding her every step. A pang of something strange found its way into my breast, a blossom of heat and sadness, a familiar sensation of pity, except this time for somebody else instead of myself. It was bizarre seeing another soul who also suffered the curse of being crippled, as though in response to the emotional stimuli, the muscles in my hind-legs clenched hard. It was difficult to remain standing, not wanting to show anymore weakness than absolutely necessary. Erthë had spoken of healers and my brain automatically reached out (help me!) while my throat clamped down on any kind of verbalization. I had already caused enough havoc for one life-time, there was no need to bother someone completely unrelated because of my own inability to hold my tongue and look the other way.

"Talk."




@Erthe