| Outcast atk: 9 | def: 10.5 | dam: 2.5 |
| Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 8 HP: 61.5 | Buff: ENDURE |
| Gaz |
His breathing is shallow, but his breath tears at his throat like swells of wind through the walls of a valley. His exhaustion is more out of fear than from pain, though his body aches as it hasn’t for months. He was embarrassed to have been overpowered by that mare, that scrawny bundle of jagged bones and dark flesh, topped off with a smile that would frighten the devil. His pride was further damaged by the fact that here he lay upon the ground, having succumbed to the fear and minor injuries, and the saviour who stood above him was some behemoth of an Amazon. He surely could have handled that thin mare with ease, if only he hadn’t suffered psychological bombardment as a result of being attacked by things that were supposed to be dead. Never before had he found himself assaulted by a barrage of decayed rodents.
Despite the injury to his pride, he was of course grateful that he had been saved. General or not, everyone had an Achilles’ heel and his mental wellbeing hadn’t exactly been bombproof to begin with. The wounds upon his body would heal in time, though the damage to his wings was a loss that could take him months to recover from. He had never been denied access to the skies before, but now, he lacked the necessary amount of feathers to fly and there was no telling how long it take for them to grow back.
His eyes felt heavy as he lifted his chin to look at the mare before him. His folded knees ached beneath his weight as they were pressed into the damp ground, but the rest of him hurt too much to move. He did not recall having seen the mare before, though she smelled of the Foothills and therefore must be a part of the herd. He had been absent from the herd lands for much of the past few weeks, though, trying to find his way after she had left him; it was no surprise he didn’t recognize new faces, though this was one he was sure to become familiar with.
He grunted softly at her words of comfort, though the pieces of his heart remained scattered. How could he ever be alright when his wings were so torn and bloody? His mind felt numbed, as though he could not speak or think for shock, or perhaps denial of the whole situation. Was it worth hoping that this was all some terrible dream? Probably not. It was best to accept his fate, and perhaps be rewarded with a better truth, than to get his hopes up only to have them cut down like rotted trees.
“Thank you, Brighid,” he began, unfolding his bloody legs from beneath his body so that he could rise. “I can stand.” He hauled his heavy frame up with some effort, his bruised joints screaming against the sudden weight that was placed upon them as he rose to his feet. His wings hung limply and pitifully at his sides like shredded banners, the tips of his feathers glowing faintly beneath the crimson that stained them. “I am Murdock, General of the Foothills. I would be most grateful if you could escort me back there,” he smiled dimly at her, though his eyes reflected little but pain.
In all the confusion, he had almost forgotten where he was. A quick glance around the clearing reminded him that he was in a meadow alongside a stream that was bordered by dark forest. The moon provided little light by which to see, but the tree-lights that hung in the branches provided some aid to his straining eyes. Wherever they were, it hardly mattered to him anymore. “I’m afraid I’ll probably be a rather poor travel companion,” he laughed softly before breaking into ragged coughs. “I’m sorry we won’t be able to take to the skies. But anyways, what brought you out this way at such a convenient time for me? Have you been with the Foothills long?” Perhaps she was a seasoned resident of Helovia and knew her way about well, or maybe she was just quick to learn. Either way, she had an air of wisdom about her that was incredibly comforting.
"talk talk talk"
If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?
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Image Credit
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