Meyer scowls at her, automatically lowering his head to bring her into better focus. The motion causes a bead of sweat to dislodge from the tip of his matted forelock, running down along the length of his nose and into his nostril. He snorts at the tickling sensation and clacks his teeth together.
It had not really occurred to him that he might come across someone other than Set or Niklas. Because Set and Niklas were always there, whether they were present or not. His glare automatically shifts after the retreating squirrel at the thought. It disappears into the shadows that fill the empty gaps between the exposed roots of a nearby tree, and his ears bury themselves into his knotted mess of a mane. Really, he is not as unfriendly as he might appear. Flicking a tail that only just yet touches his hocks, he turns to face the stranger again, slowly this time so that he first has the time to school his features into a more acceptable expression.
Stony-faced, his emotions shuttered behind that space in his head where there is only room for agreeable quiet, he meets her eyes. She is young, he thinks. He’s not been this near to a stranger before. He is not sure that it is a feeling that he enjoys. Her head tilts like one of those tiny birds when they are trying to hear you better, and the sentiment held in the blue depths of her open gaze makes him look away after the briefest of contacts, shuffling his feet aimlessly underneath him.
It is not her fault his heart leaps and twists with every unfamiliar sound. She cannot know that the sight of an animal – every animal – brings with it the heavy feeling of suspicion, knowing that Set could be watching him through those depthless, all-knowing eyes. Many times over, when he was younger and braver (impudent?), he had tried to escape; but the little creatures would always find him and their loyalty was firmly Set’s, no matter Meyer’s abilities. It was never long after they found him that either the predators or the shadows drug him back, sometimes kicking and screaming, other times pleading and whimpering – a pre-show to the punishments and consequences awaiting him back in the piebald’s clutches.
A pair of bright golden eyes interrupt his thoughts and he visibly startles, skin twitching. The faint, fuzzy echo does not burn, though; it does not feel like Set. He blinks once, twice, and again in rapid succession, and seeks out the inquisitive mare, unintentionally moving closer. Watching her carefully, he waits another beat. “I don’t like it when you do that,” he says flatly, deducing that the alien memory had to have originated from her.
@[Aela]