10-29-2017, 03:00 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The thrum of wing beats reaches his ears, and the brown-eyed stallion looks up to see Heda coming toward them. A breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding is released, and he greets her with a smile (albeit a tight one, drawn thin by the current situation). She apologizes for her delayed arrival, and Ivar places his muzzle reassuringly on her shoulder. “Kuma’s been taken captive,” he manages to slip in before Imperial begins to speak. Ivar pulls back to better hear what the other stallion has to say, his concentration apparent on his face as he takes it in. “Gryffen,” Ivar says when Imperial is quiet. The boy shuffles anxiously, and Ivar meets Heda’s gaze squarely. “And some new lackey – not Thana this time.” The forest of Sylva is thick with enemies to Loess, it seems; the hilly realm is spread thin when it comes to warriors. He has done his duty, learning what he can about the other lands. Spycraft is not his skill however; diplomacy is not his forte. He is charming, but ultimately selfish. The thought has him idly pressing his side against Heda’s. Her presence is solid, comforting, and he knows that she will humor him in anything he asks. The building frustration will need a release, he knows, and there is no time to slip away with this on their doorstep. It gives him the bit of patience he needs to think clearly. “Were you trespassing?” He asks after a moment of silence. That will be important, he knows. Was the Sylvan King within his rights to make prisoners of trespassers? He remembers the thorny wall around Taiga, and knows that even if Gryffen is in the wrong, a madman cannot be reasoned with. Blood will be the only avenue then. Ivar wonders whose blood it will be. |