A P O L L O

And how can you say that your truth is better than ours?
Shoulder to shoulder, now brother, we carry no arms

There was something... Strange, about Artemis, Apollo decided. Not really strange, per se... But different. Yes, different, that was the word. He had not truly grown close to the pale, braided warrior during their time together within the Foothills, but the overo felt as though he had still understood a bit of her character. A noble warrior Artemis had seemed, and now, after returning from a failure of a battle, well... Apollo couldn't help but wonder if something had happened to unnerve her so.

"Please," Apollo whispered, his vocals kind, understanding, "I am no lord to you. A brother, perhaps, but no more. I do not deserve a title as formal as 'lord.'" There was also shame in his voice, but not for the failed battle that Artemis had taken part in. It was for the fact that they had fought in the first place. A peaceful soul Apollo was, and to think that they had fought in this invasion alongside the Basin, well... It churned his insides. The Grey had made a contract with the Basin to promise warriors in exchange for their own, and now that things were changing and the Grey was no more, well... Apollo felt as though he suffered alone, hated for a crime he didn't truly commit.

Still, Chief now or no, the black and white overo knew he had a duty to oversee. Lowering his head, Apollo placed the crystalline point of his horn towards the dirt and sucked in a deep breath. Hopefully this would work. Pressing downwards, the point of his horn began to dig and prod at the soil beneath them, covering the sharp dagger with ample amounts of dirt before the stallion lifted his head once more. Around them, the air seemed to shift and change, humidity taking hold. The breeze, once crisp in the throng of Birdsong, now smelled of fresh rain, and Apollo sucked in a deep breath.

"Hold still, Artemis... I'll do what I can for you." With that, Apollo tipped his crown forward and gently began placing his horn against the wounds that he could see with great care. The torn flesh that he touched would knit itself back together, healed as if it had never been there. Strained muscles and swollen joints would subside, the painful fires of those injuries cooled as if doused with ice water. The Merciful was meticulous, surveying the pale warrior's frame with experienced eyes as he went about healing her. A loyal soul, Artemis was, and Apollo wanted to do what he could for her.

With the last of what he hoped were her wounds, Apollo sucked in a breath, feeling slightly drained from the large use of magic. It had been a very long time since he had healed someone. Stepping back and head lowered, neckline paralell with his body, the overo spoke. "... How are you feeling now, Artemis?"

ooc: Sei, I'm so, so sorry that this took so long. ;-;