Since his so-called 'Transcendence,' Pride hadn't been able to figure out his magic. It had weakened--that much was clear. He wasn't sure how this was meant to be an improvement, a reward, but the two times he'd tried to return to the cave to ask, the giant owl-beast simply hadn't been there. Or it had been in hiding. He suspected it had stolen his magic, somehow, but there was, too, that faint niggling feeling that something new was lurking in him.
Suspicion, then, though healthy, was balanced with cautious testing: and that's why he was here. He wanted to check on Tenzin's stone--he still left flowers, and gemstones, now and then, but he wasn't sure if the Master still slept, or if he'd simply submerged himself again in ice.
In any case, he was also here to toy with his magic--to practice, to test, and to hope that it worked its way back up to its former power.
He tried to cast out his magic, to sense into the lagoon from a distance, but nothing happened.
The white stag grimaced. This was... normal enough, granted; magic was fickle and often failed. But there was a sense of weakness to it, now, that he did not at all like. A brief flicker of worry threaded up along his nerves; what if he were permanently weakened-?
Pride came to the edge of the lagoon, closer now, and inspected it with careful, pale eyes; then he closed them, took a breath, and forced himself to calm. Magicka flared up this time, strong, and relief burst through him just as powerfully and clearly. And he saw Tenzin's stone--good... good.
Pride let out a sigh of relief. Awake or not, the merciful one was still down there and, Emuh or not, Pride's magic, too, was still in place.
Thank the caves for that.
...What next, then? What could he do next, to test himself?
Pride considered, and then moved a few paces from the water's edge, lowering himself to his knees and then lying flat. He searched the ground, with his gaze, until he found a small rock that looked suitable and to this, he touched his nose.
After a few moments, a diamond--maybe the size of his own nose, a couple inches across, lay before him. It was imperfect; rough, mostly sparkling but dull on a few facets. Ahh, well; it would do. At least he still had his ability.
Pride took a moment to lie there and rest, feeling his magicka swirling in him unsteadily, watching the diamond where it lay.
After a few moments, the white stag took a breath. Now for practice.
His true power was--had always been--in the magic of the mind and with this, he could work his way back (he hoped) to where he'd been in terms of practice, in terms of power. Something about his implementation felt sloppy, unsteady, as if the gloves he used to handle a rough object had grown slick and worn. He had to work on that, to practice.
And so he concentrated on the diamond, and he willed it to rise: to hover in the air, to move with his mind, with his direction, and with his magic.
Slowly, it lifted: shimmering, reflecting and refracting light all around it, wavering slightly as he held it in the air before him. And he held it there: concentrating for long moments, inhaling deeply and holding that breath, focusing. And at last, he lowered it gently down, and flicked back his ears, exhaling.
The quiet clicking and clacking drew his attention; hooves, stone, whatever it might have been. Fireheart, still studying magic in his own right, and honing his skills, approached with tilted head. His own magicka was already working, eyes flaring with a soft firelight glow, when he spotted it: a white stag, laying upright by the water's edge.
Something about it--its color, perhaps; its diamond, its noble bearing--spoke of refined elegance, and Fireheart, when he spoke, reflected this in his own tone.
But he was curious about the gemstone glinting, hovering a couple feet in the air, with nothing there at all to support it.
The voice caught him by surprise. So closely had he been concentrating on levitating his gemstone--up, and down, resting in between--that he hadn't heard the soft scratch of pawpads on approach.
He tensed, breath holding in his lungs, and managed to keep the diamond hovering there; and after a moment he turned, looking toward Fireheart.
Pride let the gemstone gently tick down against the rock, and offered a polite incline of his head before speaking.
Once acknowledged--and accepted--the wolf dipped his own head in response. He padded a little closer, coming to a halt a few feet from Pride, then turned and faced the water. He lowered himself to his haunches, tail curling around them. The stag was well-spoken, yes; dignified, and it was something of a relief to find himself in this company, though he admitted in his own mind, at least, that he was a tad suspicious of it. There was no real reason to be, bar its veiled elegance, but he felt it nonetheless.
After a moment he pushed back up, pacing several yards away. His nose sought out the rock, touching along it, and he focused on his own magic; it was an idle intention to show Pride his own element, to demonstrate it. Not to show off, but to explain.
It was unusual, to find one so well-spoken and so likewise refined. Pride watched him sit, then wander, and touch the ground, unsure what it was that Fireheart was doing; but he answered as he observed, politely.
As he spoke, too, he turned and raised a wisp into being: a small flare of cool phosphorence, weak, but... there. And this he nodded to.
Rounded ears perked up at the mention of 'protectors,' Fireheart at once finding this of interest.
He turned, pacing to peer at the wisp.
After a moment, as he paced back over the rock, heat flared up; his paws began to glow a bright white, and each step left ashes in his wake.
Pride wanted to leave some form of gift here for Tenzin, preferably before he'd magically exhausted himself; but meanwhile, he looked to Fireheart.
Pride dipped his head down, pushing up with abrupt, sleek power, elegance in his movements as he touched nose to water's surface. His intention was to create a few drifting ice flowers for the phoenix--instead, he found water steaming up, searing his nostrils and eyes, driving him several stumbling (and distinctly undignified) steps back to land heavily on his haunches.
The white stag sighed, and turned his mind back to the trial.
Who knew how it might backfire?