"I'm alright," resonated unbidden through Mercy's weary mind, and—though he knew that Pride had been speaking through mind in lieu of mouth—his head jerked just slightly to face the stag.

"I just feel like crap."

The pale beast chuffed a short laugh, "a little likewise."

"Magic isn't ever cooperative, is it—?" Pride asked by way of rhetorical amusement, distracting and deflecting a bit from his own suffering.

"And, I suppose not." Mercy's brow pinched somewhat, face twisting into a slight grimace. He felt along the tenuous link that he and Pride held, muttering nonsense to himself, "I feel something dragging at me, like when we talk—like this, but—" The pale beast shifted in place. "It doesn't take."

But, enough of that for now—moonlit eyes met their silvered counterparts, and he murmured, "don't worry about talking, okay? I can go find fresh water."
@Pride

He'd be damned if he just sat back and let Mercy care for him. He wasn't some helpless fawn. (Not that he ever had been.)

With a lurch and a clatter he came to his feet, nostrils flaring and flanks heaving with a sharp breath at the sudden effort. This time, the link was one-way, without an opening for Mercy to return it along. "One-way link this time--I can come. Let's find water. My mouth is dry." There was strain in the thought, and in the glance he fired the white lion's way. "But-... come with me, please."

His ears swept back, a wince crossing his features; his head was held lower than usual as he readied himself for a walk. "What do you mean by a... What isn't taking-?" he asked; he couldn't send more than a little bit of thought along this route, and so he tried to imply his curiosity with an inquisitive peer the lion's way.

@Mercy

When Pride went to stand, Mercy barely kept himself from lurching up after him and offering himself to lean on. Sue him. He was woefully too used to providing careful support, either physically or verbally—and wasn't it terrible that that was the case, in these caves?

Head bobbing slowly, he lagged in rising to his feet; but, he did not hesitate to fall into step at the stag's side.

One-way meant that any of his own thoughts would fall onto deaf ears, unless he'd… ah, we'll be encouraging it. Magic was quite the finicky and fickle beast, wasn't it?

Mercy responded verbally, at first, a soft "alright" at first. His crown dipped lower, matching the level Pride carried his as they walked, and he padded forward with eyes half closed. A distant kindling of more proper focus resided in overly contracted pupils; despite the stunning pain behind them, he pressed on.

The feeling, at first, was quite a bit like a leash being pulled taut around the neck. It was so suddenly there that his conscience was jarred and yanked backward into a spiraling freefall. No matter how he writhed and turned, he could not orient himself in the nauseating swirl of otherness.

Moments—hours?—passed and the ground rushed up to meet him, but a more careful, thoughtful stream of consciousness? laid him to gentle rest.

With that, he called softly, "Pride?" And he found himself staring down quite the monolith of deeply mired—"oh." Mercy willed his limbs to continue moving as he turned his mental eye away, not wanting to intrude too heavily. "I think this is... it?"

The pale beast crept along this... link, tugged on it and tested its tensile strength. It held fast, strong—and it beckoned forth nearly every bit of the cocktail that was his heart for Pride to see: pervasive warmth; shimmering, molten, gooey adoration; sticky worry; not-at-all faint concern— Mercy did not make an attempt to mask all this, but he did not upend it into the stag's conscience either.

No, he merely murmured along the connection, "is... this alright?" Magical exhaustion radiated from him.
@Pride

He knew the lion had it in him--the power to reach out, mind-to-mind, as he did. It shouldn't have come as a surprise when it did, except that it was... different, this time.

He stumbled further, blinking at the intensity of it; but that was magic, wasn't it? Fickle, chaotic. At times so weak as to be nonexistent. At others, thrashing backlash through the mind. And then there were moments like these. It felt...

Like light shone through honey. Golden, sweet, and thick. As though he were seeing the world through his own eyes, and then this strange and beautiful sheen, as well. His nerves were struck by gentle touches not his own, as though he felt the air on another's fur.

Pride shivered.

He came to a stop, turning with wide eyes to peer at Mercurius. And-... I can see myself, he realized, and when he exhaled, he felt air leave another's lungs. Emotion--his weariness, wonder, faint confusion--was joined; now there was the brush of warmth, the whisper of worry, the glimpse of concern. He realized then that the strange sensation like honey was Mercurius's mind: Pride's own was struggling to make sense of this new incursion, of this twinning of sensation.

The white stag took another breath, exhaled it, blinked. Ears flicked away, and again toward his lion companion. "I have never felt this magic react so-... so strongly, before," he said, and his voice was merely air. He fought for a moment to find real substance for his tone. "I-... It is more than fine," he said, his head canted to one side with wonder. "Is this..." he trailed off weakly, but the thought continued: the thought, open for Mercy to read as clear as words scribed on a page. "...you?"

Somewhere in the distance, Mischief--abruptly aware of this new touch along their mental link--was perking up. Her inquisitiveness was coupled by brashness, and it tickled the back of Pride's mind. Undoubtedly it could reach Mercy, as well; and the bold questioning of it could have been translated as something like, The hell is this?

@Mercy

I can see myself, came the concrete thought, pulled from an otherwise abstract… feeling—the monolith that was Pride. In a testing… sort of motion, the pale beast felt along the connection, brushing against the stag's conscience again; moonlit eyes stared up from beneath their lashes as he did so. There was a look of wonderment on his dear companion's face, and he imagined that his own was a mirror.

Silvery thoughts asked, "is this… you?"

Dewy ones murmured in return, "it is."

Both rang clear as a bell within his—their? mind, echoing notes in a wonderful duet. Mercy reveled in it a moment, even with the third intrusion forcing a question: "who is that?" He pressed, thought for a moment, "Mischief?"

Externally, the old lion chuffed with a toss of his head; a sort of let's stop here gesture coupled with his heavily lying down. A bit of water lay in front of them, some creek bubbling out from a distant cave—Pisces, perhaps—and providing a backing track for this new symphony. Mercy laid his head down on his paws, sighing softly.

It felt so full, stuffed with the cotton of a migraine, and yet… Pride's presence, mired as it was in magical backfire, was soothing. "I… think that this is made to last."
@Pride

...made to last.

Pride blinked, and again flicked his ear, trying fervently to sort the emotions and sensations and thoughts from one another. Had that been Mercy, or his own words-? It was all so overwhelming, so new, that he almost forgot his desperate thirst and confusion.

For the lion, Pride was open to be seen, really and well and truly, at last.

On the front of it all was a person, as simple as that: with doubts, beliefs, feelings. He looked at the world from his own lens of (now rapidly-expanding) experience, as did all who walked the worldly plane. He was limited by what he knew. He was kind. He was inquisitive. He held dire memories and a penchant for lashing back at those who lashed forth--and then doubting his violence. There was that sense of responsibility for everyone and everything in his sphere of influence. He had to look after them. After Orion. After the Seven, the Throne, the chrysalises of the sleeping, Mischief, his children, Mercy... A person, plain and simple, with all that that entailed.

But behind that, less usual, were his defining characteristics. The keenness of his mind was first: sharp as a scalpel, already picking at the link, prying and testing to see what it was. To learn the nature of it. Hm? -Yes, that is Mischief-... Permanent? Is this permanent? Be wary it does not drain you, came his immediate warning, fraught with that sense of responsibility, with worry. If reading a mind, sending a message, drew power--then what would this do-?

He worried for Mercurius.

The razor's edge of his mind turned to testing it. Could he feel emotions? Yes. Could he read thoughts? Yes. It seemed whatever Mercy offered was there like a meal on a plate, to be carried away at his leisure. And his background thoughts were there, too: available to be picked through, if Pride so desired. But that felt like prying, and so he pulled away from that. Could he feel sensations? Yes. The rock under Mercy's paws, the exhale of his breath, as before. Yes, that was there--he could confirm that. Was Mercy feeling more drained by this? No. A sense of wonder gripped him: this magic was simply... there, now, an open link, requiring nothing of the lion to remain. Pride's wide eyes regarded the lion with astonishment. What have you done..? he thought at him, but it wasn't with horror--it was with wonder. It was an accomplishment. Incredible. And his mind--his insatiable curiosity--wanted to know how it had been done.

What the fuck? Mischief was taken aback, confused, and a little annoyed at what she saw as sudden intrusion.

This amused Pride faintly, but behind all the personality and the mind came the last of his defining characteristics, and one that would be clear now for Mercy: an iron will. Steel. Fire. Whatever one would call it. Pride was, beneath it all, driven; he'd never give up, never back down, never stop improving himself and the world around him as much as he could.

It was, in some sense, a polar opposite to the lion's willingness to exist: to live in the world around him, to enjoy its offerings and its bliss, to share his kindness with others. Pride's mind was one of doing, not being: constantly observing, monitoring, assessing, gauging, deciding.

He was determined--stubborn--and it was this that kept him still prodding at the link while Mercy simply acknowledged this new link--accepted it. Laid down with it, and made peace with it. Antlers caught the light and Pride dipped down his head to drink, at last, pondering. He had no way to hide his relief or the taste of slightly-metallic but pleasantly-cold water as it touched his tongue and wetted his throat, as it cut an icy path down to his gut. Or the sense of weight on his hooves, or air across his fur, or the fractional flicks of his ears to catch all the little sounds Orion gave away.

This is astonishing. I've never felt so... clear, a link. Faint jealousy--shame? He was the mind-mage, yet Mercy had accomplished this before him. He pushed it aside. Reminded himself to appreciate others' achievements. Turned it into admiration, and it was real. This is... incredible. I can feel for two. Sense for two. Can you--hear everything? Everything I'm thinking?
It was all there--wanted or not--all his little self-doubts and second-thoughts and mental narratives. All of this was a constant cascade of words, unintentionally open for Mercy to hear. I wonder if this is a new magic. Or is there a way to make any magic permanent? Or is it only this sort? A permanent bond, as with Mischief--oh! I should have realized! It must be the same. A bond forged--it isn't limited to familiars, perhaps--fascinating. The actual thoughts lend it so much depth. When did he become so powerful in this? Does he have other magic so strong I'm unaware of? (He was excited at the idea, at the prospect of what else there might be. More water gulped down, slid down his throat. Revival.) Or maybe it's just this sort--the bonding, if it's as ordinary as what I've done with Mischief. I wonder, could we include our children--Mercy, do you think this could include others? This was deliberate, and he turned to peer at the white lion. The idea was interesting: a family all linked-? In case of danger, too--or do you think it has a distance limit? We could test it! It might be overwhelming, though, and now his thoughts slipped back to unintentional; if we can't learn to filter things. Imagine five or six of us, or more, all bound together, all this thinking...
...And so on.

@Mercy