Murky grey light from the overcast sky turns the forest into a body of many deep shadows. It is not the kind of day he would have expected her to choose for her bathing, but the cloying perfume that finds his dark nostrils is inimitable. A pleased rumble accompanies his exhaled breath which fogs in the strange cold within the trees. He is gone before it dissipates, lost to the shadows far more easily than he once was.
The river cuts its way through the forest, a dull ribbon beneath the heavy sky. He stops downwind at the sound of her voice, grey eyes flicking from the familiar curves of her tawny frame to the massive winged stallion pacing around her further up the river bank. Disappointing, but a curious situation, seeing Bardot handle herself with someone other than him. In the past Tunnel was rarely motivated to crash such a party, his interest would have depended on whatever impulses struck him as he silently watched. These kinds of meetings were often so banal, nothing to inspire the reactiveness and cruelty that had often propelled him. His possessiveness of the woman might have propelled him onto the scene at one time, but now he takes the time to watch and listen.
He makes note of this change in himself, as his ears flick to catch the words that the little unicorn exchanges with the pegasus. He is interested in this conversation, in the contents of their speech and the tone of their voices. Their scents, the size, and body language of the stallion matters too, but Tunnel's connection with Bardot makes the entire scene engaging, not just to the animal facets and his own needs. It is disorienting to be engaged, to want to engage in such a conversation.
If only to see what she will do.
They are still something and nothing to each other. I don’t belong to you.... You don’t belong to me. She had said. Here she is collecting more spiders, and she’s drawn in a massive one this time.
Tunnel is rather fond of seeing her sopping wet, does she guess at that? If not, the slow pass of his eyes over her slick topline when he leaves the trees will give this away to her. Today though, they have company. Bardot must keep her shameless thoughts to herself.
“You’ve chosen to play your game with a rather contrary creature.”
Tunnel’s gravelly baritone interrupts before Bardot can make her reply. His stout limbs bring him fully into visibility but darkness still clings to the markings smudging his blue hide, like black ink bleeding from the angles of his body. The light is weak and his vision is not as challenged by it as on a fully clear day. There are bright, muddled edges to things, but it does not bother him so much. He stops out of both of their reach, making their pair into a triad. The muscles that band his neck and shoulder shift as Tunnel arches his neck and directs his attention to the buckskin mare. “Bathing again?” Asks the mustang flatly, his expression critical. Grey eyes, very like the clouded sky in color, are lifted to the black leviathan, and Tunnel criticizes himself with an uncharacteristic tsk “It wasn’t my turn to ask a question. I assume this game has room for three players.”
@Bardot THE INTERRUPTING COW
