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strength may fail[break]
the eyes grow dim[attr=class,punkisavelightbottomslant]
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❄️
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Her return to Shoal Cavern is almost routine now; the desire to see the Glastrier, to receive some semblance of absolution, is an omnipresent thought. Walking purposefully through the entrance, she slips easily through the winding tunnels, the temperature steadily decreasing with every step. Her breath freezing on the air in cottony puffs, it's not long until she stands in glinting sunlight once more, the illumination made weak by depths of the ice.
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There, near the water, pacing up and down the beach is the Glastrier. Her beautiful pelt marred with mud and stained with wide smears of unruly ice, Georgette watches the mare breathlessly when the beast pauses to look at her. Eyes wide, and heart heavy, she whispers a soft, "Bonjour," to the Glastrier, and with a flick of her ears the mare slowly approaches. Georgette lifts her hands tentatively, nary moving a muscle once her arms are extended to allow the Glastrier to snuff at her hands. There is a bare moment where she fears the mare will bolt, or snap at her hands, but it melts away in an instant when instead the Glastrier lightly touches her frozen muzzle to her palm.
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"I am going to help," she whispers, her voice barely audible. With slow movements after she gently pats the Glastrier's nose, she releases a Cinccino and Wishiwashi to aid her in her work. Once certain the Glastrier will not bolt, she directs her Wishiwashi to use SOAK to wash away the mud while the Cinccino buffs away the rough patches of ice; Georgette too works with her hands, scrapping them raw as she smooths rough ice beneath her palms.
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It is slow, thorough work.
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Nearing the mare's neck gives Georgette pause, her heart seizing as she takes note of a thin scar across the mare's throat. Ceasing to move, or indeed breathe, the small woman stares wide-eyed at the Glastrier. "I'm sorry," she chokes out around the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The words spill like a mantra from her lips, tears gathering at her eyes as the Glastrier swings her head around to stare impassively at Georgette. With a sudden stamp of her hoof, the mare lowers her head, knocking the side of her face against softly Georgette's before trotting off.
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Her heart aches.
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but the heart shall ever last
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