By the time he’s asking if the horned creature is her - it was a her, that much he’d discerned - companion, she has retreated wide-eyed back to deeper waters. It had not been his intention to startle her, but nor is he bothered by the fact, never one to stifle anything about himself for the sake of others. She whips around to locate the someone in question, her emphatic head shake barely perceptible from where he stands, though it grows lighter by the moment as dawn slips into morning. She turns back and answers him, her reply nearly muffled by the water. He tucks away the bit about her ability to survive in both fresh and saltwater. A Baltian, then? He'd not been around Beqanna when the Baltians and Stratosians had appeared, so his knowledge of them is limited.
Pawing at the crust of ice until it breaks and there is room enough to drink, he takes several long draughts to wash the fishy taste out of his mouth. His eyes track the silent third’s movements as it makes its way around the water’s edge toward them. Not long the leader of the Chamber, he knows little else about her. Thoughtful, he reaches out across the lake with his consciousness, brushing up against hers with the barest of touches. He finds no quarter. Can’t fault a guy for trying. His gaze swings back toward the lake, water dripping from his chin.
Sharpening his sight to better catch her facial expressions - and keep an eye on the unhurried approach of goat-girl - he tilts his head in question as her gaze darts from his front legs to the back ones, and back again. “You can’t leave the water? He’d spent a lot of time in many oceans but antisocial as he is, preferring the company of wild creatures to most, he’s not seen anything like her before.
By now the other is no longer approaching, standing several paces off from him. Yet to speak, ears twisted forward, belying the disinterest on her stony face. He spares her that glance over his shoulder, a flash of a grin and a wink, then turns back to his conversation. As his head swings back around, he shifts back into an otter. The young one is far enough out now that he would have to shout or otherwise use magic to satisfy his curiosity and so, first shielding himself from the cold, he darts back out across the ice and slips back into the lake, chittering as he goes. This plunge is a far more pleasant one and he again disappears beneath the surface.
His head pops back up a few moments later with a whiskered grin, the tail of a small fish clutched in each of his forepaws. His strong tail and back legs keep him upright in the water as it laps at his armpits and then he is (perhaps with a little help of magic) hurling the fish at the dark brown mare’s head. There’s enough speed and force behind it that she will have a hard, but not impossible, time dodging them. Not intended to hurt much, he has no real reason behind the action except to see how the somber thing reacts. Treading water and keeping one eye on the shore, he searches the water for the alien life-force that is the water dweller’s, bright eyes dancing with youthful mischief and humor, well-belying the decades behind them.
Pawing at the crust of ice until it breaks and there is room enough to drink, he takes several long draughts to wash the fishy taste out of his mouth. His eyes track the silent third’s movements as it makes its way around the water’s edge toward them. Not long the leader of the Chamber, he knows little else about her. Thoughtful, he reaches out across the lake with his consciousness, brushing up against hers with the barest of touches. He finds no quarter. Can’t fault a guy for trying. His gaze swings back toward the lake, water dripping from his chin.
Sharpening his sight to better catch her facial expressions - and keep an eye on the unhurried approach of goat-girl - he tilts his head in question as her gaze darts from his front legs to the back ones, and back again. “You can’t leave the water? He’d spent a lot of time in many oceans but antisocial as he is, preferring the company of wild creatures to most, he’s not seen anything like her before.
By now the other is no longer approaching, standing several paces off from him. Yet to speak, ears twisted forward, belying the disinterest on her stony face. He spares her that glance over his shoulder, a flash of a grin and a wink, then turns back to his conversation. As his head swings back around, he shifts back into an otter. The young one is far enough out now that he would have to shout or otherwise use magic to satisfy his curiosity and so, first shielding himself from the cold, he darts back out across the ice and slips back into the lake, chittering as he goes. This plunge is a far more pleasant one and he again disappears beneath the surface.
His head pops back up a few moments later with a whiskered grin, the tail of a small fish clutched in each of his forepaws. His strong tail and back legs keep him upright in the water as it laps at his armpits and then he is (perhaps with a little help of magic) hurling the fish at the dark brown mare’s head. There’s enough speed and force behind it that she will have a hard, but not impossible, time dodging them. Not intended to hurt much, he has no real reason behind the action except to see how the somber thing reacts. Treading water and keeping one eye on the shore, he searches the water for the alien life-force that is the water dweller’s, bright eyes dancing with youthful mischief and humor, well-belying the decades behind them.
@Orieta
@
Kreed