He notices Weir’s careful gaze and smiles lightly when he thinks he’s tricked him. He doesn’t know with certainty that’s he’s been completely successful. However, if he wants to master this gift, practicing on unsuspecting but familiar horses is the only way to go about it. Of course, he’d never use it maliciously on his Dalean family – they are simply the only ones who might tolerate it, and therefore him, to some degree.
The wind stirs up around the pair, a cool and refreshing reminder that winter will soon be upon them. And as much as he appreciates the roan’s hard work and dedication to roaming the herdless grounds, Ramiel doesn’t want him to run himself ragged once the weather turns. They have survived long enough as quiet as they are, surely they can wait until spring. He is thankful for the man’s efforts, though, and he is unafraid to tell him so. “I doubt the problem is time, or anything on your end, really. You’ve done a wonderful job for barely having settled in yourself.” His tail flicks across his hindquarters, disappearing as it hits his skin and reappearing as gravity pulls it back down. “They are just not drawn to this place like they are elsewhere. There has to be something we can offer to make the Dale more appealing to new comers.”
His gold eyes lift to find the mountains, drawn to them as he usually is. The beauty of the place should be enough for some. The sense of family should be a siren call for others. It’s nearly an impossible task to convincingly convey it all to strangers in the Field, the young stallion knows, but there has to be a way. He smiles at Weir’s conviction and looks back at him. “I will hold you to that.”
The red speckled man accesses him then, commenting on his growth and asking after his state of mind. How was he doing? Ramiel thinks it’s more of a question for them, the people of the Dale. After all, he firmly believes in their democracy: what they thought of him is far more important than what he thinks of himself. But for Weir’s sake, he tries. “I am as hopeful as ever, with or without this new crown. It’s heavy and strange still, but I think its weight will only make me stronger.” The grey shifts his stance, uncomfortable with the elaborate way he’s said it (not straight-forward and practical like he should have) but believing it at the same time. “Growing means inevitably leaving parts of your life behind you, I’ve come to realize.” His eyes are curious and soft as they land on the stallion. “What made you come here, if you don’t mind my asking?” What have you left behind, or whom, he asks without speaking.
r a m i e l
what a day to begin again