ORIGIN

The little subtleties in James did not go unnoticed. He was weary, frustrated, and it showed; Pride wondered why. Why, if Aristotle was ostensibly James' friend, was he wearing him down, so? He spoke on this mildly. "All the more reason to meet Mercurius, I should think; Mercy is excellent with children. Perhaps he could share the load, a little. Certainly Aristotle could bring them to meet him, too," he added. "Or would it be easier if I brought Mercurius to meet your family? -If you wished that, of course?" He did not know exactly what the dynamic was between James and Ari, but he knew that they'd been close early on. He worried that perhaps Ari was taking advantage of James' kindness; he worried about the word 'collecting' in regards to children. He'd known only two Gembound to 'collect' children, and--verbal misstep in this case, or not--both had been for decidedly nefarious reasons. He suddenly wanted to see Aristotle, to talk to him, to see that his vague fears were unfounded.

And--"A village, hm? I would suggest they speak with Mercy then, too, if you might advise them on my behalf? I hadn't heard, no; but he knows those who already dwell there and it might be best to ensure that no one's home tree is accidentally destroyed--plus he may be able to advise on the best places for food, water, shelter, and what have you," Pride explained. "Unrelated to meeting Ari, of course--but it's an idea."

Pride turned to Comet, then, giving her the benefit of his full attention. Forgotten, for now--or compartmentalized, at least--was Fireheart; it both helped, and didn't, that her element was virtually the opposite of what his had been. It wasn't as potent a reminder of fire and flame might have been, but it still reminded him from time to time. The same, but very different. His eyes, then, and thoughts, stayed firmly on her magic: on the water that appeared, pooling beneath her paws. "We would be glad to have you, then," he answered mildly, a tip of his antlers indicating his good nature; and then he focuused on her spell.

"Ahh, excellent," he said; "I don't think we have ever had someone focused in water magic, before-? In fact, I think I haven't even met anyone who was. Back up a moment, would you?" he asked, stepping forward to examine the water.

If and when Comet moved safely away, Pride reached out with his magic. He touched, with it--even as he stepped back--the pool, searing it in a brief, harsh boil into a hot steam that scorched skyward, and hung there momentarily as searing mist. "I have used water like this--a useful sort of offense, and if you do not know it perhaps I can teach it to you? We can, perhaps, go over your full skillset later on, if you wish. Is there anything else you would ask of me?" he asked, head tilted gently to one side as the last of the steam half condensed back to the floor, half faded.

Consoling..? Pride's concerns deepened. James had clearly been through trauma--and the stag wondered, for a beat, why he'd taken so long to come to him with it. Was everything okay..?

He forced his attention down to Comet, his expression gentle. She'd accepted his offer, though she hadn't answered his question--about whether she had further questions--and so he put that aside, for now, as a 'no.' "We can speak more on that later, if you like-? To train together, perhaps?" It wasn't an assumption that the wolf pup's magic was weak, but rather an offer of experience--"When you've used magic as much as I have you tend to learn some creative uses for it--and interesting combinations. Perhaps we can teach one another."

Another glance, then, worried, at James. "James, I have a suggestion; why don't you find Comet, here, someplace to rest for now, and decide between the two of you when to bring her back for learning-? I imagine it was a long journey here--and then you might come back, and we can-..." 'Speak alone' sounded rude, exclusive; he reconsidered, rephrased, halfway through. "Catch up?" he asked, head tilting slightly, meaningfully, toward the Throne. It was an offer of privacy, a question, without outright dismissing the cub.

Pride turned, watching James lead Comet off, his feelings at the moment mixed--not at her temporary departure, but at the situation as a whole.

He was pleased to see James again; pleased, too, to have a new potential member. He grieved for the memory of Fireheart, a memory that Comet's appearance so vividly recalled. And he felt concern--deep concern, and empathy--for James' apparent upset--and he felt, lastly, worry as to what it might be.

But the white stag was the stolid sort. He was hardly going to fawn and cry and ask what was wrong; he felt some obligation to be James' rock, to be someone to rely on, a wall the horse could come to for aid. As Nassir was mine, for awhile, Pride thought, and grief washed over him fresh.

He turned away, staring off into Orion. Trying not to think about how the light had glittered from Nassir's gemstone, and his pale, part-blind eyes, like the lights of Orion's quartz. Tried not to think about the sympathetic face, the gentle tone. Damn it, Nassir. You were never a fighter. Why did you go with them..? A shuddering, soft sigh escaped him, and he turned back, watching James and Comet (father and daughter, almost; perhaps not by blood or magic but it was the closest thing many of them could come to, in this place). He was glad to see that, at least: warmth, living Gembound, those who had pressed on and as yet survived, still granting the caves their light and life.

Yet... even at this thought, worry trickled through him; how long would it all last..?

The way James returned was warning enough for Pride. His stiff legs, his careful angle. His faltering start only added to the stag's mounting worry, and that was before James began to speak. The more he told him, the more Pride's heart fell.

He wanted to speak up, at the first--to reassure James that a magic failure was nothing; that tripping was hardly stupid. But he did not want to outright interrupt. And by the time James had finished, he was speechless. His heart had fallen, deep sympathy and grief rising up in him, and concern. Behind it--waiting for the first to pass--was rage, at whoever had done this. That sense of murderous justice that the white stag so espoused. He said nothing of it, though.

He said nothing at all.

Instead, impulsive, Pride took several steps forward to come alongside James. In a distinctly paternal gesture, he moved to lean gently against the horse--despite weighing perhaps half of James' weight, being a foot or so shorter than he. And, animal-like, he moved to lean his head on the larger horse's back. It was a gesture of comfort, of fatherly reassurance as best he could offer without hands for a hug; despite the armor that clung to Pride, it was warm.

But he didn't say anything at all, yet. He wasn't sure James didn't have more to say; and nothing he could have said in that moment would have been good enough.