Because through the contact, through his hands upon her warm ancient scales, he had become capable of fully sensing just what was inside a Cursed Steed.
It was horrendous.
|I have identified the curse. Designation: THE Gnawing Remembrance of Nhaglfarr-Ythok, of Those Who Remain. It manufactures pain from the victim's own capacity to feel.|
|Its function, as I read it: the Curse converts feeling itself into agony. Every emotion the victim experiences is seized and reforged into pain before it finishes being felt. Contentment burns. Memory of joy burns worse, the Curse replays the victim's finest moments through their weavings and chews each one, so that everything they ever loved becomes a returning blade. And hope... Hope burns worst of all. The Curse prices hope above every other feeling, and the moment a victim dares to hope, the gnawing sharpens tenfold. This is why the Steeds of this Dimension stopped hoping ages ago.|
