08-24-2021, 06:16 PM
She is different from his Ischian friends. He does not worry about her the way he does the others, or worry about offending her. Perhaps it's the swell of feelings that drifts back and forth between them in one long, continuous duet. Aela's question leaves him quiet for a moment, he knows, without needing to be told, not to try to ply her with sand and sun and sea, and he knows that those trapped to a solely terrestrial life will never fully understand the world when they can only grasp a mere third of it. His expression turns thoughtful, his gaze coming back to her after its disappointing journey.
"We could have taught you how to sing to the ghosts," he offers, with a dry cough - the grasslands do not at all agree with his gills - and a slight shrug barely visible beneath the chitinous shell, "I'm sure nobody interesting has ever died here."
It is easy to discount his island when it's been a simple herdland for so long, but some might make that same mistake of the Pampas, too. Ivar the Imprisoned now, perhaps, but before that? Before, he and his kin had littered the sea with equine bones. Whose bones, he wonders, rest among the poppies? Little songbirds and foxes and mice? Who are the bogeymen of the Brilliant Pampas?
Aela, maybe, but he is not afraid of her. And of the Prince? As if on her cue, the man appears, and Enoch's grin comes alive again. He presses Skepticism and Humor against Aela's awareness.
"With ears like those, I imagine you hear quite well, indeed."
But Obscene continues, and despite the smile on the Ischian's lips, the good-natured young stallion falls away, leaving something more unforgiving. There's a challenge in the air that he does not like. Enoch is not an aggressive creature, but he is a proud one. He does not intend to be bullied and his voice holds all the weight of the sea's calm before a storm.
"You will have to try to take them, then, because I see no reason to give you any."
"We could have taught you how to sing to the ghosts," he offers, with a dry cough - the grasslands do not at all agree with his gills - and a slight shrug barely visible beneath the chitinous shell, "I'm sure nobody interesting has ever died here."
It is easy to discount his island when it's been a simple herdland for so long, but some might make that same mistake of the Pampas, too. Ivar the Imprisoned now, perhaps, but before that? Before, he and his kin had littered the sea with equine bones. Whose bones, he wonders, rest among the poppies? Little songbirds and foxes and mice? Who are the bogeymen of the Brilliant Pampas?
Aela, maybe, but he is not afraid of her. And of the Prince? As if on her cue, the man appears, and Enoch's grin comes alive again. He presses Skepticism and Humor against Aela's awareness.
"With ears like those, I imagine you hear quite well, indeed."
But Obscene continues, and despite the smile on the Ischian's lips, the good-natured young stallion falls away, leaving something more unforgiving. There's a challenge in the air that he does not like. Enoch is not an aggressive creature, but he is a proud one. He does not intend to be bullied and his voice holds all the weight of the sea's calm before a storm.
"You will have to try to take them, then, because I see no reason to give you any."
@Aela @Obscene