hurricane;

[Hurricane]

His expression is as flat as the Tundra extending for thousands of acres behind him, as cold as the snow settling onto his like-colored coat. His dark gaze remains steely and remote as it bores into the fell creature before him. He is aware of the danger singing in the air, of the drool slicking its predatory jaws as it fights back its instincts. But he remains steadfast, unwaveringly loyal to his frigid home. Besides, if the beastly stallion did attack, he would quickly learn that he is not an easy opponent. This creature might have weapons attached to his gums and ankles, but Hurricane has some tricks up his own sleeve. He had not lived as long as he had without learning how to survive even the most monstrous of foes.

Its words rumble into the air, surprisingly complementary. And quite conveniently avoiding the question. One pale ear flicks, the only sign of his irritation at the blatant misdirection. The stallion offers his name, and Hurricane lets the offer hang in the air for several long moments as he studies the creature blatantly, missing no detail.

Hurricane.

The word slips out on a low sound, reluctantly given. But he would not intentionally piss this creature off if he has no ill intentions towards his home. No guarantee that he wouldn’t do it unintentionally, however. As the next question comes, his dark gaze turns colder, even more remote.

Years.

The truth is much more complicated, but this is not information the intruder needs.

Your question is rather irrelevant. But I find it… odd that you have yet to answer mine.

There is never a day that goes by

that is a good day to die.

Hurricane

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