For a time he is left to sulk, standing there in the middle of the Dale so alone. It's very strange to him this- being so utterly solitary. It's not that he had much company before, it was however just like having a piece of him missing. In a sense, he did.
He finds remedy to his sorrows shortly, his drooping head and features lifting slightly at an approaching noise. The soft footfalls of another making their way to him, though he can not discern whom it is he should be expecting.
When the rise is crested by a familiar dark pony, Weir perks, head and ears moving forward before he himself follows. He is both surprised and relieved to see Fynnegan here, considering he had likely rudely left him somewhere between the Dale and the Gates. Left him high and dry and without direction, what a poor friend he had been.
"Fynnegan, is that you ol' chap?" Weir grates as though he has not spoken or a had a drink for some time now. "I- I havn't the slightest. It's just there, on the tip of my tongue. Somewhere happy, somewhere full of wonder, somewhere frightening. Terribly and utterly alien." His features turn thoughtful as he considers this paradox of an explanation. "No intentions of leaving you good fellow, though it seems somehow between here and there I have done the very thing." It's uncommon for Weir to be so confused, so ill informed of his own whereabouts. How does one not know where they've been? How they got there? How they got back?
"Terribly sorry, most apologetic. That must have been quite the adventure, I am sorry to have missed it." He's still ignored the outright chill of the cold around him, the pile of snow gracing his backside. "Snow? In August? Don't be silly now, it would never be snowing in-" He looks around as he says it, amber eyes catching the steady flakes that fall around him. Flurries of white that flutter down and collect on the grass at his feet. "By George you're right! It is snowing! Spectacular, wonderful, how very odd indeed. We should get to the bottom of this, something bizarre is a afoot don't you think?" The red head is oblivious to the fact that the snow seemed to follow him. That it was spawning somewhere above his russet head, surrounding him in his own personal snowstorm.
It's as curious as curious can be.
WEIR
bleh. sorry. i am a mess lately.