there is no greater pain
or punishment than memory

Asleep. Echidna had been asleep, and just speaking seemed to set off the fall, and Quinn had an eyebrow curved upwards by the time Echidna groaned. He doesn't say anything, merely sits there quietly while the pigeons flutter and hop about, too concerned with the possibility of being landed on, even though they aren't nearly close enough for that to happen. Worrywarts, the lot of them. Glowstick is following the movements of the mare with curious eyes, and the eagles are staring down both. Quinn doesn't really know what to think about the situation, and the words had simply flown from his mouth. They had felt reasonable in this instance. With all that he knew of Echidna, it fit like a puzzle piece.

She probably wasn't all that fond of this fact, but Quinn pokes at things. It's what he does. What he knows. He waits it out, whatever comment will fall from her lips. She is up from the ground, hair shaken out, dirt brushed off before the words arrive. Quinn offers a dip of his head to this. "Yes." He agrees, but his mind is baiting him with imagery of that once-grace. Echidna is dressed simply enough, but so is Quinn. Bland browns and tans, nothing he had picked out, unless one counted eyeballing prey for the right size and fit before throwing himself into the hunt. Perhaps he should buy some clothes for himself instead of relying on the clothing of his kills, but so far there's been no need. He washed them well.

The next words gain a huff from him, a twitching of a shrug from his shoulders. "Round and round it goes, as per usual. Isn't it what we do? Traverse hell and crawl back out of it until we're thrown back in?" He asked, pulling his knees up with an arm, setting the elbow of the other to a knee, chin in that palm to give Echidna a 'well isn't it?' look. Quinn felt calm, as if this was the most normal thing in the world; and after everything, wasn't it sort of just that? Something normal where that very thing was more an anomaly than anything else? Glowstick appeared to be inching closer to the mare in blatant curiosity, and the antics amused Quinn, though his attention was less for the horses. Was it irony, the whole bit with the horses?

WORDCOUNT: 400