well, well, well; any

[Bowie]

This is Major Tom to Ground Control. I'm stepping through the door and I'm floating in a most peculiar way. And the stars look very different today. For here am I sitting in a tin can. Far above the world, Planet Earth is blue and there's nothing I can do.

The stallion proceeded with his merriment. The birds sang above him, a relentless chatter that brought forth a comfort that life had returned to Beqanna once again...there was a desire to turn the once scoured lands inhabitable again. The slick smirk that moves over the velvet muzzle does not sway when the shadow of another creeps in the corner of his violet eyes. Her scent gives her away long before she is even close enough to be seen but Bowie can taste her feminine pheromones, the heat of her skin, the wild tang that perfumes the air around her.

Her words break the spell that he cast in his small portion of the meadow but with a slow execution, the stallion pivots flawlessly to fully let his gaze fall on the dark woman. Her eyes are large and wet, curious of him, her tongue spooling compliments that would make any horse blush. The stallion is no different as long lashes fall over his amethyst eyes and he chuckles very low and soft in his throat as a tuft of snowy mane falls like a sparkling curtain. Bowie tosses it aside when he lifts his skull to once again meet the gaze of the minx and so he may capture her in the depths of his eyes. "You, my pet, are one of the loveliest specimens I believe Beqanna has ever created." He can not help but toss a small but deliberate wink in there. "I am Bowie, lovely Naga." His voice is like the slow crush of sand when the tide rolls in. It is slightly jagged, gravely. His eyes fasten to her as he articulates the words whilst watching her pretty features. "Now tell me, sweet child, what brings you from your shore front home to a meadow like this?" The rhythm of his voice speaks almost in a sing-song fashion as he moves to draw a few paces closer to the woman.

Bowie allows her to inhale his own scent and store it, if she should desire. The intoxication of fresh grass, honeysuckle, and fetching company was almost too perfect. The deep purple stallion tilts his head towards her ever so slightly as he listens for her reply with an unwavering gaze clasping to the green of her own.

Bowie.