Never once does his genius mind wander to the conclusion that he himself causes the snowfall. That he was capable of doing such a thing, not without Magic. However, there he stood, in awe of himself for once, blinking into the flurries that fell in fat dollops from the chilled air above him. “Why, Fynnegan, I do believe you are right.” Still his voice is thick with disbelief, mulling over the circumstance in his mind. Wonderfully odd, wonderfully odd indeed.
He is not one to help himself, skirting back and forth, side-stepping and watching the flakes follow him, only solidifying his connection to them. “Oh ho! Indeed you are correct.” He shakes, sending the accumulation of white from its roost on his head and backside. they fall where they will, dusting anything near with their diamond-like glitter before they melt.
“Walk? Why of course my friend, a walk sounds just fine.” His rusty head bobs, shaking up and down in agreement before he follows. A roaming glide to his step, though he keeps up with the excitement in Fynn’s only lingering a few hoofbeats behind the dark pony. He’s traversed the Dale’s acreage many times, and soon he realizes the direction they head. The Echo Trails, an area that was a sub-herd within his Kingdom. One that matched the quality of good land the the kingdom major held for herself, though usually it was quite empty.
“Fynnegan, old sport, you have done well in my absence.” He acknowledges the outburst of words leaking from his friends maw. A roar of thought compared to their usual discussion, and he smiles a small smile in his amusement with it. “Oh, it is a fine place indeed, what a good eye you have.” He flicks his tail in the warm sun, the snow and wetness long gone now, no longer falling in drifts along his stationary body.
He can shame or fault Fynnegan for his enthusiasm. Any stallion would be proud to have their very own piece of land, and it was customary in fact, to his kind. “I’m sure you will do well with it, I’d be glad to meet your mares.” He assures Fynn, taking a deep breath of the scents that he did not often have the joy of smelling. “I’m sure Ramiel would be greatly appreciative of you joining our ranks. The peace caste is a good choice.” Truly the Dale consisted mostly of peacemakers, though they all in some way could hold their own to protect their Kingdom.
“Oh goodness speaking of Kingdoms. have you met Ramiel in my absence?” His words almost shocked in his realization, blurting from his mouth uncharacteristically. Weir suddenly felt like a terrible liaison, neglecting his duties as he had.
WEIR