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“Shh, baby, shh. I’m here.”
The boy was scared to move, reluctant to feel the pain that so clearly traveled through his wing. It is the first true injury that appears to crush his innocence, shakes his confidence that it’s the only thing he can think of. Trapped between the confusing brightness of injury and the terrifying sensation of being lame and broken. Saoirse doesn’t even want to consider the possibility of losing his ability to fly – but it sneaks into his mind, and makes him choke on the tears that don’t seem to have an end.
He tries to look for the voice, searching for her. It isn’t mother, but her cool tones and coos appear to thread what’s left of the boy’s wits. The colt tries to lift his head, and winces under the bruising that strain, and impedes him.
“Saoirse.” Before he submits to the ground once more with his head, he makes out the familiar shadow that creeps into his periphery. Leaning into the ground, inhaling the dirt and the wet, he coughs what was meant to be a fond giggle.
“Lay still for me now, sweetling. You’ll be alright.” The kind mare’s touch is cool, soothing, even if the boy winces from its initial contact. Which had only been the touch of a light, calculated wisp of breath against his neck. He clutches his eyes shut, “O-okay…” he breathes out unsteadily.
The boy shudders for a moment, tense muscles unfamiliar with the sensation of magic that makes it way into his body. He whimpers as ears flatten against his skull. Saoirse wants to be home, in the heart of the dragon. Even if mother is absent; the island was safe, warm, of bright light and filled with the endearing smell of salt and seaweed.
He cries out as it makes its way to his wing – finding the young bone, reversing its material to preserve the initial structure of the wing. There are parts in other places that almost seem less battered, but those parts are largely ignored compared to the wing. Green eyes snap open, searching for the familiar face of the scraggly stallion – and latching on to his terse glare. Teetering beyond the comfort of the mare’s warm hums.
When it stops, he hears the stallion’s voice. “Ah… I- I don’t know…” He doesn’t want to try, doesn’t want to feel the pain – or face the condition of his wing.
Saoirse winces as he lifts his neck, squealing when he gathers his limbs underneath. “It hurts! Why?!” The wing is fixed, for the most part, but the pain is nothing like he’s experienced before. It weighs heavily on his mind, like the arrival of the monster and the terrible force that is Kaos. With a ragged huff he lunges up, unsteady as his breaths heave; able to clutch both wings closely into his sides.
Shaky, sore, he teeters towards Albrecht and leans against his side.
“Th-thank you… miss.”
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[O] SWP :: The beginning of something new entirely
