11-07-2016, 09:13 AM
Despite the thick insulation of ancestors and bloodlines woven into his coat, the male is not a lover of this bitter cold. He much preferred the spring with a blossom of life and greenery, a promise for something better than the bleak gray palette of the winter. The frosted plumes drift from his own split lips as he bears the cut of cold air with a low grunt and grimace.
From not far off stood a horse, splattered and colored like the very elements that surrounded her. Gray eyes are keen to her presence from beneath the blanket of his own brow when she calls out to him rather friendly-like. His hooves are slow anyway today and it wasn't like Lior had a real destination...and besides, opportunities to have some company are few and far in between during these frozen months. With a slight shrug to his own consideration, Lior deviates and turns a shoulder and face to the other.
Limbs draw his close but a respectable distance away. He notices the lack of her coat, she is smooth and sleek where he is matted and heavy. Concern should cross his features but instead he reserves it for after he gets to know the woman a bit. When your father insists upon tormenting you in all shapes and forms, it's understandable as to why suspicion just lurks beneath the surface of his stoic features. "Nayl." He speaks low but it seems amplified by the fat snowflakes that fall around them, muffling all other sounds. "I'm Lior." His retort is direct as he meets her gaze with his own 'matter-of fact' one. "Not from around here, I'm guessing?" And by that, he is prodding for whether she is of Beqanna even at all. The black stallion has not had many interactions since his own return to Beqanna but he was open to possibly making a few acquaintances. Lobes flicker forward in the nest of tangled hair.
If the mare should like to have an extended conversation, Lior would offer the warmth (well warmer than a frozen meadow) of his cave to the painted woman. She did appear rather chilly and Lior would consider it rude if he did not at least extend the offer to the other, after feeling her out a bit more, of course.
From not far off stood a horse, splattered and colored like the very elements that surrounded her. Gray eyes are keen to her presence from beneath the blanket of his own brow when she calls out to him rather friendly-like. His hooves are slow anyway today and it wasn't like Lior had a real destination...and besides, opportunities to have some company are few and far in between during these frozen months. With a slight shrug to his own consideration, Lior deviates and turns a shoulder and face to the other.
Limbs draw his close but a respectable distance away. He notices the lack of her coat, she is smooth and sleek where he is matted and heavy. Concern should cross his features but instead he reserves it for after he gets to know the woman a bit. When your father insists upon tormenting you in all shapes and forms, it's understandable as to why suspicion just lurks beneath the surface of his stoic features. "Nayl." He speaks low but it seems amplified by the fat snowflakes that fall around them, muffling all other sounds. "I'm Lior." His retort is direct as he meets her gaze with his own 'matter-of fact' one. "Not from around here, I'm guessing?" And by that, he is prodding for whether she is of Beqanna even at all. The black stallion has not had many interactions since his own return to Beqanna but he was open to possibly making a few acquaintances. Lobes flicker forward in the nest of tangled hair.
If the mare should like to have an extended conversation, Lior would offer the warmth (well warmer than a frozen meadow) of his cave to the painted woman. She did appear rather chilly and Lior would consider it rude if he did not at least extend the offer to the other, after feeling her out a bit more, of course.