You're busy dying if you're living in the past

In the days following the attack on Helovia and his fight with the monster in the Steppe, the hot springs of the Basin had been Crowley's best friend. Not only was he sore from the whole ordeal, but the afflictions left upon him and Talbot from the beast's blood continued to pain them, and only the heat of the spring had been enough to soothe their injuries. Talbot had rather enjoyed the few days of doing nothing but relaxing and appreciating the knowledge that they were safe, at least for now, but as always, the duo could never stay in one place for too long doing nothing.

Away from the Basin they had wandered, seeking warmer territories if there were any in this perpetual night. Together Weaver and hound went, their only companion one another and the faint whispers that trailed behind the brindle with every step he took. The moon and the stars had returned with the appearance of that monster, lighting their way and keeping a promise that Helovia might some day return to normalcy; but the midnight sun did little to bring life and warmth back into the lands it looked down upon.

Once they had exited the Steppe, the pair ventured east to where the mountains turned to rocky foothills and surprisingly, it was noticeably warmer. Underfoot, the snow had mostly melted away by now, but the grass beneath it was still struggling to survive with no sunlight to feed off of. Seeing the nearly non-existent grass reminded Crowley of the deep, primal hunger that had overcome him during battle, and the thought of it caused his ears to slick back in annoyance. It was embarrassing to think hunger and thirst had taken him in a time like that, but the memory of the violet Goddess' words rang clear in his mind. He was cursed, and he would never know when one would start or end, or exactly what would happen to him next. He could only hope that it was over soon and he could carry on with his life.

Crowley had begun to feel strange on the duration of travel, though he knew not what had brought it on. Was it simple annoyance that was being brought on by his curse? The tension that had littered the Basin? Or perhaps it was the change of the season? The Weaver couldn't place the strange feeling that had begun to consume him, and for now, he wouldn't worry about it.

'Hurry up,' came an eager voice in his mind, and lifting his gaze, Crowley found himself looking at Talbot who stood at the peak of the fields, tail wagging enthusiastically behind him. Shortly after the fight in the Steppe, the pup had gained the strange ability to speak with his master, though it wasn't audible for any other to hear. It was still strange to think he was able to telepathically communicate with the hound, but honestly, it opened up a whole new world of possibilities in Crowley's mind.

Rolling his eyes, Crowley propelled himself up the hill to join the waggling hellhound. "My bones are not as young as yours," he spoke aloud to Talbot, but the pup didn't seem to care as he continued to wag his tail and jump all about. With a sigh, Crowley shook his head as he rounded the zenith of the hill; what he wouldn't give to be young again.

[For Irrydae; curse #5.]

You're busy dying if you're living in the past

In the moment that Talbot had rounded the peak of the hill, mouth agape and tongue lolling out from the side of his mouth, the hound was blissfully unaware of the violet hued mare for but a second before he slammed on the brakes and came to a halt. Behind him, his pointed tail stuck straight out and his body grew rigid, ears curved towards the stranger that he nor his master had been expecting to find. A low wuff left his throat then, and then a gentle growl, but he remained where he stood until the Weaver could catch back up with him.

Having heard Talbot's warning, Crowley followed the hound's gaze until his own eyes lay upon their unexpected company. An annoyed scowl creased his lips then, for he had left the Basin not only to seek out more plentiful sustenance, but for time alone, away from the herd. This curse had been nothing but bothersome to the brindle, hindering him in ways he would have never thought possible. If Crowley was honest, most were embarrassing things; he'd been riddled with gruesome boils, made terrified at every little movement he saw(and some he didn't), and had even been so stupid as to eat snow in the midst of a great battle. If he remembered correctly, he'd even believed a Pegasus to be an alien...

The two things were close enough.

Speaking of the horrendous creatures, upon further inspection, it was plain to see that this mare was a part of that same winged family. Ears lacing back, Crowley continued on and advanced towards the violet one, unbeknownst to the sorrow that plagued her so. It had been some time since the Weaver had initiated any act of Plague violence, and what better time than now to amend that? As far as he could tell, they were all alone up here, and nobody would hear her screams of agony as he ravaged her. Talbot seemed to latch onto the silent thoughts of his master, and as the stallion moved ever closer towards the stranger, he followed right at his side.

However, as he drew closer and closer to the other being, her outline become more clear with every step, Crowley's anger slowly began to dissipate. It was perhaps the strangest feeling that he had ever felt, and when the nameless mare took a timid step in his direction and spoke, Crowley came to a halt. He had heard her words, but they more or less went through one ear and out the other as his eyes skimmed across her. Her body held a dark, silvery tone sprinkled with a deep purple, and with the help of the moonlight, he could see that her eyes nearly matched his own. Something within his chest twisted, and although the Weaver tried his best to fend it off, he could not.

"... You have a good point," he said at last, snapping his gaze back to that of the mare's before he could be accused of staring. This wasn't the best answer he could have given, but it was all that he could think to say given this unexplainable distraction. Exhaling through his nose to try and calm his suddenly white-hot nerves, the stallion cast his eyes briefly skyward. She did speak the truth concerning the time, for he'd lost complete track of it many weeks ago. Was it morning? Midnight? He had not the slightest idea, and until the sun got its lazy ass back in the sky, he supposed it didn't matter.

Dropping his gaze and letting it fall back onto the mare, Crowley was yet again shocked to find that the intense hatred that was supposed to be there was not. What was the meaning of this? As awkward as this all was, Crowley took note of the way she looked away, sighing, and then looking back to him. Lifting a brow at her reaction, Crowley spoke up again. "Does the night trouble you, miss?"

[ @[Irrydae] ]

You're busy dying if you're living in the past

Where the mare's words would have usually gone through one ear and out the other, on this night, the brindle was pulled in by every syllable that left the girl's mouth. He noticed her quick skyward glance, the forward pull of her wings, and her gaze dropping down briefly to their shimmering lights scattered throughout her lavender hide. Sitting not far from the pair, Talbot watched cautiously, concern and apprehension spreading throughout their mental bond. The pup didn't know what had gotten into Crowley, but he knew that it was not normal, for his master had never been so genuinely interested in a Pegasus before.

A flash of worry flooded the Weaver's golden eyes as he listened to the mare's story, declaring that this perpetual night may very well have 'broken' her. There were so many ways that one could be broken, Crowley wasn't sure which she had meant... Catching sound of her sigh, he took a step closer, closing the distance between them ever so slightly more, and he could see her doing the same before she voiced her own question. It was a good one, one that might have been answered all so differently if he were in his correct state of mind. "Yes," he answered a second later, "While the darkness doesn't bother me, the unknown of why it has settled over the land does. I worry not only for my own welfare, but more so that of my herdmates." Though he would never admit it, whether in his current state or that of normalcy, Crowley really did care for each and every one of his fellow herdmates. Even if they were sometimes at one another's throats.

"But," the brindle spoke up again, flashing a strangely uncharacteristic smile at the mare which made Talbot's hackles bristle, "Just because the sky has been plagued with darkness does not mean that we have to be, too. If I may ask... does your heart lay with any of Helovia's Gods? Do you believe in them, miss...?"

[ @[Irrydae] ]

You're busy dying if you're living in the past

She was an enigma, this girl of lavender and stars and morose. She was sweet and innocent, longing for the companionship of another. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was painfully obvious by the way she merely looked at him and stepped closer, no matter how hard she may try to hide it, that there was still so much more that she hadn't told him. That she longed for something. Crowley was all eyes and ears on her, and it was awful. She was annoying, and she was beautiful, and she was... hornless. And disgusting.

That fact alone would have normally been enough to drive Crowley away from her at the very least or, more true to his nature, sent him lunging at her in attack mode. He loathed the winged species of equine with all that he was, for they had been the ones responsible for so many deaths in his home of Etaine. They were the ones with blackness in their souls and coldness in the hearts, not he, who had never done a thing for such hatred to come drifting into his life. Should anyone else ever hear his thoughts, they might have thought them twisted and wrong, that he was the wrong-doer in the grand scheme of things. The Plague was already looked down upon as a group of tyrants who wanted complete and total domination, but did they know why its members loathed those different than themselves so?

Crowley already knew what it was like to be on the outside looking in. In his mind, it all made perfect sense, and any who held not a crown upon their head would suffer at the end of his own.

She confided to him that, yes, she did believe in Gods, and that she had met the God of Earth and watched him disappear with the rest of his other worldly siblings. Irrydae states her position as Storyteller of the Foothills, and then confesses that the title isn't one she is worthy to bear. Under any other circumstance, the Weaver would have hardly batted an eye as the mare turned her own towards the ground in what he believed to be sorrow, but today he furrowed his brow and closed the final distance between them, reaching out with the intention to touch his muzzle against the side of her neck.

The action seemed to be Talbot's breaking point, and with low growl passing curled lips, the hound turned and stalked away from the two until he was out of sight. But Crowley seemed to neither care nor notice.

"That's no way to think," he said, withdrawing his muzzle to meet the mare's golden eyes once more, "Perhaps he saw potential in you whereas no other held it. Maybe you aren't fit," he said, knowing despite the curse that his choice of words could be risky to say but not hesitating to go on. "In which case, you ought not keep trying to impress everybody. You deserve happiness... even if the light of the world does flicker out once and for all." His words had been firm, but still held an air of concern to them. He exhaled slowly, and then he turned his head, intending to run his muzzle lightly across the Pegasi's barrel.

"We will die," came his voice again, lower this time than before, "Tonight, or tomorrow, or twenty years from now... I've no way of knowing. But during the time we have left, why not enjoy it, and relish in the company that we still have?"