Summer has turned the bend again, as it always did, as was expected of it. Weir does adore its dependability, for there are few constants in his life. The russet stallion slowly walks into the Meadow, always slow. He takes the time to inspect the flowers, to whuff at a passing dragonfly that attempts to land on his nose. So few do these things now but he is ever curious, an unyielding thirst for knowledge- though he knows so much already.
He isn't sure who he will approach today, each time he comes there is a new crowd to mingle with. Though he does take note of a rather short stallion, how can he not? Weir doesn't often see Falabella roaming the gathering grounds, so it is likely why he takes particular interest in this one.
A stout, pitch colored male rears on stunted legs. The roan only tilts his head, slowly making his way over, an almost foot-dragging pace. He is ever the ambler, no sense of hurry when their is no hint of danger afoot. His ears tug forward as the smaller man speaks, calling forth the giants, and to that he can not suppress a chuckle. "Hulloo, sir" He strings the greeting out, calling loud enough to be heard over the dwindling distance. As he closes in he continues to speak, always one to jabber on.
"Good day good day, of which giants do you seek?" He ponders out loud, amber eyes warm as they look down at the pony before him. "I am called Weir, though I am no giant, why I can't say I'd enjoy meeting one either." He blinks, looking quite serious, of course how couldn't he appear so? Weir had read of giants before, like he had read of many things, and not all written was pleasant. "And you my fine Falabella friend," because of course they are friends, what ever would he do with an enemy? "What is it I may call you?"
His head dips, plucking a mouthful of sweet grass from the earth. He chews it and seems to regard the flavor, the texture. All the while, he stares happily at his new found companion.
WEIR
If you hurt me, that's okay baby, only words bleed
