He would never deign to think such an absurdity, seeing just some hooves prancing about the graces. Parting the blades though unattached to a chassis, nonsense, baloney. A great many odd things he had seen in his life, but they were solid, absolute sightings. Taking on clear forms, precise outlines, substantial physicality. This one he had chalked up to little rest, to tight muscles that needed reprieve. He was only mortal, he suffered from the pains of the flesh the same as any, the wear perhaps bubbling to the surface now. His eyes were playing tricks on him, nothing out of the ordinary for one in his state and so he paid it no mind. Brushing it from his thoughts with the bat of an eyelash, a strain, sand in his eye. His amber oculi worn around the edges, would he be human wrinkles would be sure to line them.
For any doubts, his King can only sing him praises. Reassurance given, with a flick of a tail. He double took this sight, the plume had for a moment been there and the next it had not. Not one for much subtlety he began with questions, ”Ramiel, your tail. I do believe it is malfunctioning.” Quizzical eyes find the leaders rump, all sense of modesty forgotten. ”Might be your tail is not so drawn to the Dale either,”he laughs heartily, his own jokes always fluffing his humor. ”It too has tired of my banter, just there, it had gone and returned.” He gestures with a tilt of his dial, sending stray locks to fall across his blazed forehead.
They all couldn’t be turned away by his chatter, surely some sought companionship, simple conversation to pass their days. He wondered why more hadn’t been enticed by the simple living, the peaceful atmosphere of their kingdom. Times had changed and Weir was an old soul, everyone wanted things bigger, or better. He wasn’t used to such theatrics, frivolous displays he had no access to. ”I have little to offer them. Education? If they wanted it, most don’t. My talent is limited to the will of others in a sense. I cannot display great feats to prove some boundless power. I fear I am unsure as to what impresses the others. Though I wish a thousand times to not attract the sort that desire such of me, of any of us.” Though his words may be somber, his tone is anything but, contradicting the message that would be with his endless optimism.
His pallid companion shifts, unsure conceivably of the right response, of an appropriate one. A valid reasoning falls from the kings lips and Weir can do nothing but agree with his sentiments. The young one was wise, was careful with matters unlike others his age. Thoughtful on how he was perceived, how they are would be reflected in his words. The roan had to admire that, not all were lucky to have level headed rulers, some hidden motive woven in their words. Luck shone upon the Dale, here he had perceived no sense of self-servitude. ”You speak wisely Ramiel,” his tone is appreciative and genuine. ”I often find myself pulled in one direction or another, a deep gut feeling that I am quick to heed. If you can trust in nothing else, trust yourself, trust in your gut I say.” Though words were wind, wisdom could not be taught, could not be imparted to others. Feelings were much the same to Weir, he rested a piston propping it lightly on his hoof. ”I’ve never had children you know, nor a wife in all sense of the word. I can take solace in that at least, that I do not have them pinning for my return somewhere. A shameful existence to leave someone in don’t you think? My parents live, though what child does not eventually grow and vacate home? My sister, my brother, they are off with families of their own, and why shouldn’t they be? I can’t honestly say I feel like I have left much.” He smiles gently as he closes his thoughts, not at all perturbed by this loss.
