05-04-2017, 07:49 PM
It wasn’t until he had finished speaking that he realized how out of breath he actually was. There was a restlessness in his muscles right alongside the stitches that was egging him on again, back into motion, back to the hunt. Seirath forced his heart to slow down. The frantic beating against his chest was reverberating through his ears, distracting, trying to pull him back toward panic and chaos. The feeling was so unfamiliar that he was having difficulty mastering it, which had never happened to him before. Focusing his attention on the burro in front of him helped him anchor himself in the moment, outside of the fear and the unknown in his imagination. He took in the stature, the alien but familiar features, the distinct non-horseness of him. It helped, actually, he felt after a few seconds he was getting a handle over his rising concern for the missing golden filly.
Odd, he thought to himself as he processed the ivory figure. Or was it odd? He’d only been in this place 5 minutes so maybe it was perfectly ordinary to run into donkeys. Does it matter? he asked himself, with a faint hint of annoyance. Right. Conversation. Goals. Problems to solve.
Bred for diplomacy, it became almost instinctive. He had been apart from others a long time, now (well… if you didn’t count the child), and yet – it was like he couldn’t stop himself from sliding into a familiar old coat. Seirath felt his features aligning themselves, familiar strings of decorum and diffidence tugging his face, his stance, his voice into the right lines. He defaulted, always, infallibly, to friendly and polite. He held the other’s eyes as he spoke. It was instantly clear that this stranger had not seen his quarry (there was a stir of panic in his breast again, quickly beaten back), but Seirath restrained anxiety, gave a soft, apologetic smile for his insensitivity. “It’s a light blonde… looks like pale gold on her.” he clarified, and even his voice lost a little of its previous urgency, but hard as he tried to suppress it there was a weariness in his words that hinted at the tension he felt.
He looked around quickly at the small voice calling toward them, not far off, ears turning quickly to catch the volleyed words. Curioser and curioser… The tiny figure ploughed toward them in a series of leaps over the grass. Seirath swung his hock outward a little, taking a better position to watch her. The slate eyes were arrested for a moment on the unexpectedness of her. It takes him a heartbeat too long to answer after she speaks, old, rusted instincts nudging him into action. “Hello, Smidgen” he says, dipping his head, wondering if the name was intentional or ironic. “I’m Seirath, and this is…” out of practice! He chides himself silently as he realizes he didn’t stop to take names, or give them.
He presses on, “I was just asking this gentleman if he might have seen a little palomino filly pass by recently.” Almost unconsciously he takes a few steps to the side, and a step closer, and the shadow cast by his dark frame falls over her face. “Any chance you would have seen her? And,” He added, resigning himself to the fact that tracking the filly down was going to take some time "maybe you could tell me where I am?"
Odd, he thought to himself as he processed the ivory figure. Or was it odd? He’d only been in this place 5 minutes so maybe it was perfectly ordinary to run into donkeys. Does it matter? he asked himself, with a faint hint of annoyance. Right. Conversation. Goals. Problems to solve.
Bred for diplomacy, it became almost instinctive. He had been apart from others a long time, now (well… if you didn’t count the child), and yet – it was like he couldn’t stop himself from sliding into a familiar old coat. Seirath felt his features aligning themselves, familiar strings of decorum and diffidence tugging his face, his stance, his voice into the right lines. He defaulted, always, infallibly, to friendly and polite. He held the other’s eyes as he spoke. It was instantly clear that this stranger had not seen his quarry (there was a stir of panic in his breast again, quickly beaten back), but Seirath restrained anxiety, gave a soft, apologetic smile for his insensitivity. “It’s a light blonde… looks like pale gold on her.” he clarified, and even his voice lost a little of its previous urgency, but hard as he tried to suppress it there was a weariness in his words that hinted at the tension he felt.
He looked around quickly at the small voice calling toward them, not far off, ears turning quickly to catch the volleyed words. Curioser and curioser… The tiny figure ploughed toward them in a series of leaps over the grass. Seirath swung his hock outward a little, taking a better position to watch her. The slate eyes were arrested for a moment on the unexpectedness of her. It takes him a heartbeat too long to answer after she speaks, old, rusted instincts nudging him into action. “Hello, Smidgen” he says, dipping his head, wondering if the name was intentional or ironic. “I’m Seirath, and this is…” out of practice! He chides himself silently as he realizes he didn’t stop to take names, or give them.
He presses on, “I was just asking this gentleman if he might have seen a little palomino filly pass by recently.” Almost unconsciously he takes a few steps to the side, and a step closer, and the shadow cast by his dark frame falls over her face. “Any chance you would have seen her? And,” He added, resigning himself to the fact that tracking the filly down was going to take some time "maybe you could tell me where I am?"
Seirath - wait