this isn't mischief
Everyone seems to suspect him of something dangerous (and they’re correct in their suspicions) and it makes him laugh. He might seem suspicious (bruised eyes, crooked smile, scarred body, lightning-white stripes, bowlegged knees), but his interior is far from it. He is not a deceiving type (unless it comes down to big shows with potential drama and manipulating the minds of mares to join his herd); much preferring to keep to the atmosphere of dramatic shows and mischievous glares and dangerous decision-making in the shadow of night.
He can sense her moodiness (whether from the shift in the wind, from the look on her face, or from the instincts of a natural horse deep inside) and it encourages him further. Her eyes seem to narrow as she voices her ‘perhaps’ aloud and he grins at her. However, he doesn’t say anything more, instead waiting for her move to continue the conversation. He ignores the odd moment of awkward silence (ears tipped casually, bruised eyes staring unblinkingly).
His nostrils give a heavy sigh in response to her question. “Definitely not the weather,” he says. He noticed the way the clouds darkened, or how the weather shifted depending on the way this mare’s feelings were (he isn’t a stranger to magic; in fact, he’s a friend of it). “A bit chilly, don’t you think? Might want to lessen the temps a little – I think my tail might freeze off if you keep up the cold much longer.” He winks, indicating he knows exactly what she’s up to.
“Oh, I’m just here looking to meet new folks. I’ve been gone for a couple years.”
lokii
this is mayhem
