CHULANE
I believe that dreams are sacred
Amusement abounds as he hears Loren's explanation, the purring roll of beautifullll sounding in his mind. Further amusement is had as the healer labels the Sword Deimoose, and had he held human form, Chulane would have chuckled properly for the first time in what felt like an age. It was something he almost expected Kia might say or think, or share with him across the bond, taunting and teasing in that loving way they had, including Deimos because he held such a large part of her heart, and by default, Chulane's as well.
He hid his emotions away when the amusement and platonic affection cascaded into something more sombre, into nostalgia and grief and that yawning sense of numbness. For while he enjoyed the moment, he still went to share it with her, still reached out for her across the bond, and was still surprised when she wasn't there to hear or feel him. He locked it all away, and let himself focus on the topic he himself had raised to the others.
The moose tilted his massive head in curiosity at the lion, a notably avian gesture for one so antlered. Then the great ears swivel to the Sword, to capture his words, and the Chief digests all the information proffered with quiet contemplation. 'What sorts of feelings do they have?' Perhaps it was foolish, to ask such philosophical things of the delirious, or perhaps it was the mark of a true philosopher that he asked it. 'Did the gods create their heralds?'
He hid his emotions away when the amusement and platonic affection cascaded into something more sombre, into nostalgia and grief and that yawning sense of numbness. For while he enjoyed the moment, he still went to share it with her, still reached out for her across the bond, and was still surprised when she wasn't there to hear or feel him. He locked it all away, and let himself focus on the topic he himself had raised to the others.
The moose tilted his massive head in curiosity at the lion, a notably avian gesture for one so antlered. Then the great ears swivel to the Sword, to capture his words, and the Chief digests all the information proffered with quiet contemplation. 'What sorts of feelings do they have?' Perhaps it was foolish, to ask such philosophical things of the delirious, or perhaps it was the mark of a true philosopher that he asked it. 'Did the gods create their heralds?'
Take my darkest fears and play them
