Almost two years the old stallion has lived in Helovia, though usually cloistered away in the Aurora Basin like one more rusting, lifeless effigy of times gone past, and though the idea of gods, living or otherwise, was something of an adjustment to his heavily logic based mind, already he’s met – or at least seen from a short distance - three of the four patron deities and witnessed the birth of a fifth only last season. Even so, he knows very little about the Helovian Ancients, and that combined with the obvious authority they hold over the four – now three – herdlands is unsettling.

The unknown is a frightening thing, so he sets off to learn a little more about these reigning powers, having already seen and studied the etchings and murals in the Heart Caves and learned from some of the natives that there are shrines located not much farther south of there. He moves slowly, wary of the waves that continually wash across the low stones of a makeshift bridge connecting the archipelago to the mainland, his eyes torn between mapping out a traversable route and sweeping up to scan the fascinating surroundings.

The Veins is an impressive meeting of elements with its verdant jungles, stony crags, and white capped waves all ringing what appears to be the main event; an enormous volcano mound complete with billowing smoke and vents in the surface that reveal shimmering, blistering flows of magma moving far too close to the surface for an old stallions liking. He skirts around these pits, though he’s appreciative of the permeating warmth they provide, and continues to follow the thin, unkempt trail toward the summit.

When he reaches it, winded and with head hanging low in his efforts of climbing, he isn't expecting anything but the four shrines to be standing in front of him. That something else is standing in front of him is alarming for about half a second, until the bay stallions head turns and the silvery white of his eyes is illuminated by the fires nearby.

"Hello." He calls, not wanting to startle the stranger and stifling a sudden surge of panic from his companion who sits wrapped around one twisted, backswept horn, the arrival of some sort of eagle setting the young pythons heart to hammering. One of the stallions ears flicks back, his thoughts splitting between trying to sooth the snake and trying to articulate himself to the bay.

"Doesn't that hurt?" He asks, nodding toward the birds grasping talons, realizing too late that the other stallion probably can't see his gesture. He'd asked the Indomitable the same question, though the scars across his brawny back were caused by dragon claws instead of raptor. They all look similarly painful to the black and he wonders why a bonded pair would continually cause and allow such wounds.



"Talk."
OOC // @Roux

Bah bah black sheep,
Have you any soul?

It was sometime between his travels back from the Throat to the Edge that he made a detour via the Veins, deciding it had been a while since he had visited this part of the Wilds and it wasn't all that much out of his way. He could simply strike out west afterward and follow the coastline home. The Endless Blue was made a little more daunting of a place to visit given the proximity of it to what was the deadlands, but as long as he didn't venture too far south alone, he should be fine. Or, at least, that was what he had surmised for himself. Once he reached the land bridge and looked up at the rocky path that led to the shrines at the top, he let out a great sigh "I'd forgotten about that" he mourned. The two foxes, who were curled in the grove of his back, barely lifted their heads to survey their surroundings, wrinkling their noses at the smell of the volcano before returning back to sleep. It wasn't them who had to trek up the path anyway. 

The young Doctor soon began to make the ascent, grumbling in parts of it and flinching from the hot rocks in others. It was a spectacle to see, a volcano, though Sacre would have much rather it spewed lava a little further away from the path he was so laboriously trying to walk up. There was also the prospect of the approaching storm that made him ask questions of his own good sense. When eventually he found he was nearing what looked like the summit, relief flooding through his body, he soon found out he wasn't entirely alone in this silly trek. 

At first, the fox-boy didn't properly see him, his attention was instead on that of the older guy, one he faintly recognised, probably from a Threshold visit sometime, he had a python wrapped around his horn and hair underneath instead of on top. Whilst gathering his wits the fox-boy stumbled, perhaps close to bumping into the fellow, whose name he couldn't recall, only to remember he had a snake on his head and he jumped back startled. "Mother of Gods" he muttered, before dipping his head in apology and smiling gingerly "I'm sorry, its just snakes always set my teeth on edge" he admitted, eyeing the python with great uncertainty, all whilst remembering Toulouse and his friend. In his sudden movement, he had (quite unwisely) unseated two now rather disgruntled foxes, who had jumped to the ground, their beady gazes burning into Sacre, who was instead staring with his mouth agape at the other, strikingly familiar red stallion, present. 

"You" he choked, tears suddenly welling into his eyes, "you—where have you been?" he half demanded and half laughed in relief. Suddenly all those days he had spent looking for his twin came flooding back, the thoughts that he might never see him again, that something had happened to him and his arrow wasn't working anymore. Yet, here he was, having a normal conversation, next a volcano albeit, as if it had always been that easy to find him. Sacre didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I've been looking for you everywhere" he sobbed, gazing into his twin's milky gaze with a stab of guilt—he had promised to help him fix those. 

After that he let the relief flood him and looked witheringly at the elderly fellow "you have no idea how hard it is to find this guy" he commented with exasperation, still laughing and crying.

The ginger bodied bird peers around his sightless bonded, no doubt providing his own vision where the former lacks, something the old stallion is accustomed to doing with his own companion, one having slightly better distance vision and the other sporting a unique method of mapping the world through scent and thermal signatures, together creating a fuller illustration of the world around them than either could assemble alone. This, at least, he can understand: the symbiosis between equid and companion. What he can’t wrap his mind around is that the raptor seems to understand his question and intentionally grips the gnarled scar tissue of his bonded’s withers even tighter, his hooked claws sinking into flesh and out of view. The bay hardly reacts but for smirking. Only the black flinches, his skin twitching uncomfortably across his back and shoulders to chase away a phantom pain. Thank fuck his companion is limbless.

"Surely a crafter could make some sort of perch or leather guard…” But even as he voices the suggestion he knows it’ll go disregarded. If the two have been together long enough to build up nerve deadened callouses they’re already past any need for such a thing anyway, though he still wonders about the possibility of infection with repeatedly punctured skin, but watching the way the pair seems to scoff at his concern, he imagines such a worry is nothing to them. Ah well - he thinks dismissively - enjoy your gangrene then.

"Albrecht.” He introduces, nodding his head to include the python at his brow. "And Strom. Is this-“ A flash of movement to his right cuts him off, something large and dark stumbling over the crest of the path at that moment and nearly bumbling into him. Ears pinning, he takes two quick sidesteps and shakes his neck unhappily, a gesture that might come out as a warning if he weren’t so thin and unintimidating. His mouth opens to complain, but again the stranger is quick to interrupt him, bursting into what he can only gather is an emotional reunion of some sort. He steps back to let the two reconcile, only raising a brow when addressed again.

Is it really that hard to find a blind guy? He wonders. And how can he find this ridiculous pear-headed noodle intimidating in any way? The little shit hugs things to death, but then again, who expects to die by cuddles? 'Ay.' The python agrees. 'Sneky.' Which draws a quiet chuckle from the elder, unsure whether sneaky or snakey was the intended adjective.


"Talk."
OOC // @Roux @Sacre Hi, my name is Townsen and I make fashionably late look pretty damn punctual. Please forgive!

No sir! By the way,
What the hell are morals?