[open] scattered in the mud; any

[Arka]

and every spell and scourge of god may be obedient unto me
thou spiritual sun: satan, thou eye, thou lust.

Though he found socializing to be an incredible bore at best, a tedious and maddening strain at worst, he was grateful for the stranger's intrusion on his observations. The mares waiting for someone to come pick them up were grating on his nerves, the occasional laughter - which could only be described as an unflattering bray - spilling from their grazing circle a poorly veiled attempt at getting the attention of anyone walking by.

That his annoyance was his own problem never occured to him. 

The mare that spoke to him was striking, her hooves like streaks of blood through the lightly dusted ground. She smelled like leaf-cover, the pleasant depth of a forest. 

Her question is unwelcome if only because he can't think of an answer that doesn't make him angry. He recognized the importance of choking the impulse to reply with something unkind. (Your problem, not hers.) It wasn't a rationale so much as the knowledge that he wouldn't get anywhere without at least pretending to understand civility.

He nodded his head towards the mares laughing shrilly. "Eavesdropping on some scintillating conversation," he joked sarcastically before shaking his neck to rid his mane of a few stray snowflakes falling from the sky. "That, and I heard this is where people with no other place to go visit. Seems stupid in retrospect."

ARKA

the wandering scumbag

@[Mary]