Paladin's brows furrowed deeply when the boy mentioned a truth that he had only wondered in the corners of his dreams. The stallion's chest filled with sorrow, emotion so thick that it threatened to drown him. He grit his teeth in response, body tensing, for warriors responded to emotion like they did a threat. "Silverline," he murmured gruffly, averting his eyes from the boy's silver gaze that was so much like his dear friend's. "I was unable... to save everyone," he replied thickly, deep voice like a growl. "Silverline was a dear friend, and I regret every day that I could not find him midst the shadows. I stayed there as long as I could." The crimson gaze openly looked upon the boy's sorrow and apology written on every scarred line of his face. "I am sorry."
Who was the child's mother? The black dun was surprised when the red colt decided to still allow him into the herd. He did not hold Paladin responsible for his father's disappearance, but the crimson stallion knew that he would never be able to forgive himself. The stallion dipped his head to the new leader, knowing that he did not even possess such ability to forgive. "Thank you for granting me refuge," he replied. "I will do my best in whatever position my personage is called for."
Soon, the scent of another becomes clear, and keen, crimson orbs seek out the grey equine with practiced ease. The Valiant was a learned fighter, well accustomed to having to know the whereabouts of every living thing, lest he be killed in his sleep. A dark past followed the Valiant wherever he roamed, and his two sisters were a perfect example of how, even in his darkness, he had chosen a lighter path. Giselle and Psyche were monsters, creations of years of physical abuse, being forced into battle that they all to eagerly ran in to. Paladin had done so too, leading a force of warriors until...
Enough of that. The grey seemed cordial enough, but he could see the tell tale signs of sweeping eyes as they moved over his scars. Even his mane refused to grow back completely, being stuck in a brush like a colt's. Paladin was forgiving. He knew his appearance was born of his wicked line. Even his children carried that black and crimson taint, the wicked red eyes. Well, except for his youngest; he looked much more like his mother, and for that, Paladin was grateful. A cordial smile crossed his scarred lips, and he dipped his head respectfully to the mare. "A diplomat is an important and honored position," he complimented. "Your title gives away your skills and manners, Abdullah. It is my pleasure to meet you." The stallion had an interesting way of talking, like his words were taken from an older age.
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Sounds an Echo in my Soul [Archi?/open]
