Ok, ok. We get it. Master is big, bad and scary, and Belgarath can never begin to fill his big ‘ol monster shoes. To be fair, Bel has some nice sized hooves (no talons or extra toes, or whatever devilish things Master may have). Nice for stomping on things with. Or kicking things.
Belgarath watches him quietly (as quietly as he could), standing as still as an ice sculpture. He frowns when the frozen bits of tree don’t strike the stallion on his body, but the ice had some effect. It got the stallion’s attention, didn’t it? He holds back a chuckle as the other peers into his little hidey-hole, but his breath comes in white puffs as the air around them grows unnaturally cool. It was a dead giveaway, but I think that Belgarath wanted to be found, eventually. He didn’t want the stallion to run off (chases were boring), and besides, the poor wretch didn’t look like he would get very far without collapsing.
I will survive.
Well yes, he probably would. Bel isn’t in the habit of killing quite yet. Still on the torture level, needs a few more points before he can adequately level up.
Go away.
Belgarath pushes his way into the open, closing some of the distance between them. He wants the stallion to have a good look at him. Spread the word when he’s done, you know? “This is my tree. You stopped beneath my tree,” he rumbles menacingly. Which was a problem, of course. He couldn’t possibly share his tree with someone else. He takes another step forward, his ears flicking back a little, while lowering his head a bit. “What is your name?” he demands, pawing at the ground.
It’s all for show, of course. Bel doesn’t need a reason to attack. He just wants to see what will happen.
belgarath
