Khloros gave a soft snort of thought as the weasel spoke, listening quietly. The conclusions it came to were not far off the truth; and perhaps it'd remember his words, and once it was more grown, perhaps it could make more sense of them.

The black horse watched as the weasel turned to scurry off without so much as a goodbye. Ahh, well. He was going to head to Eridanus; the talk of leaves and water had reminded him of a vague and distant ache in his belly. He hoped that Envy found its way to wherever it was going--or, if not, that it died quickly.

If I am a god of death, and it is a god of Envy, then what is it for? What does it do? Does it personify envy; is it damned to ever be jealous? Or will it become a thing that others envy, and evoke it in others?

Khloros didn't stop Envy from bounding off. Perhaps, he thought, he should have killed it; it certainly seemed to be in pain. But it was young, yet. If it was not so badly pained that it did not wish to die, well, then he would leave it; and anyway, he might find it again later on, and put it out of its misery should it be in misery.

Unconcerned, the thin horse ambled off toward the well-worn tunnel--Tunnel I, though he did not know its name--ghostlight eyes lighting his way.

________________

BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

As Envy skittered off into the dark, occasionally raising their muzzle to scour the air for the faintest trace of a familiar scent. They traveled what felt like long, and very far for such tiny legs. Yet another growl erupted from their ravaged stomach, yet the further they went, the more they became aware of a distant whiff of fish. Hopeful that they’d come upon the place they’d left their mother, they broke into a sprint, mouth watering. Nothing would keep it off that fish when they got there, not even the gem clogging their throat.

Or so they hoped, at least.

Soon they were passing a small beam of light shining from a hidden alcove, where they’d hidden Anras’ gift of a baubled river pebble. The scent grew stronger; before they knew it, they could see the stream, the last traces of the glow in the riverbed sweeping downstream with the silt, but still beautiful.

Distantly, the young one heard the echoes of hoofbeats fading into a distant memory.

-Exit Envy-

"Speech"