I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness,
nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory
He is very glad that, after a moment, Tickaani seems to be taking it all in stride. He lets his coat brighten back to its usual dappled gold, his points darkening to their mulberry color, a breath of relief shuddering out of his body almost of its own accord as he listens to Keeper and Tickaani explain pleasantries. He likes the little dun mare, and he wonders again where she hails from, because the boy wouldn't mind following someone home whose presence is so soothing and just...nice. He leans towards them absently, that closeness appealing to every fiber of his being, but jerks back at the disembodied voice.
Ryan's eyes go wide, his ears flat back against his head as he jerks away from the girls, but that is about all of the warning any of them get before he isn't a horse. Unlike the stranger, who draws out the process is an almost exhibitionist way, Ryan simply is and horse and in the next moment he isn't; instead a tawny cougar crouches between them and the threat he has subconsciously perceived, teeth bared in a protective growl that is betrayed by the fear in his bright green eyes. His reactions, normally much more reserved, are still on hair-trigger from time spent journeying alone. You don't have time to give strangers the benefit of the doubt when you are young and alone in the wilds outside of Beqanna.
Words from the dark-colored mare don't bring him any instant relief, and he stays crouched between them, tensely tucked against the ground, silent, the twitching of the tip of his tail betraying continued anxiety as he waits for something to change in the situation.
Ryan
( I love only that which they defend. )