we write verses in the violence Posted on March 8, 2026 at 03:17:34 PM by Praetorian
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Once more, Praetorian finds that he has let his own awkwardness stretch the silence out into something uncomfortable. He must seem strange to her, a lurker. He nearly flinches at the sound of the pale mare's voice. His dark lips part, and he is soundless for a moment longer out of a sense of embarrassment. "Apologies," he manages to say, voice a polite but admonished thing. His ears twist back.
Praetorian is unsure what about the mare and the sight of the twins playing has tripped him up. He isn't normally so laconic. The buckskin had just decided to move on and forego the entire interaction-- he'd even begun to turn away from them-- when Praetorian hears her voice again. One of the boys had coughed; he'd heard the sound, too, but the symptom clearly elicits a response from the white female.
Movement paused. The buckskin turns his dark head back toward the two colts. Concern flickers in the dark red-amber shades of his eyes. He is focused on the pale boy she is checking on, but eyes snap to the mare when her head whips to him. She surprises the buckskin by asking him for help. Duty draws him in. Small plumes of dirt rise from the ground where the son of Carthage steps as he approaches.
He affords the trio what space he can while looking the boy over. Amber eyes peer closely at the pale boy's nose where he can see droplets running from at least one nostril. This and at least a small cough. Hmmm. Praetorian muses a moment, his ears twisting as he thought. A shaman by any means, he was not, but the buckskin would offer what little knowledge he did have. id he think the boy was dying? No, but he wouldn't blame her for being concerned.
"There is a plant that grows near the Badlands border that I believe will help with his cough and the runny nose, but" he says this next part gently, "I do not think you need fear his death. Let that soothe you. I can fetch the herb if you like."