He never did like strangers, so why does he linger on the edge of Taiga waiting and watching the herd that moves within it? For a moment, he frowns at the thought, that youthful face contorted into a look of frustrated confusion. He remembers being in a herd, or perhaps holds slight fragments, that when put together are akin to such a thing within what remains of his torn, fractured mind. He was never sane, not entirely.
He has been wandering between the trees, sleeping under them, spending his days in their looming shade. The grullo has watched as the leaves turned from that vibrant green into a variety of colors. Scarlett, gold, orange. It is mesmerizing to his eyes of emerald green, but he has seen this all before, in the previous autumn. But for one who acts so much like a child, it is like he sees these colors once again for the first time.
His attention, though, is quickly deflected.
Focusing has never been his strength.
Thales walks the land, lowering his head to the ground as if he were some sort of hound dog, tracking down the trail of some creature to wraps his jaws around its throat. Those ashen nostrils shake and quiver as scents reach him. Familiar in the sense that Thales has been here for a period of time, but still, he does not have names for faces, and the faces he recalls are smudged and blurry, as if the photo was taken while the subject was moving. So the stallion pockets them, useless as they are, before wandering off into a city he no longer knows, but thinks he can remember all the same.
He prefers to linger in the shadows, and maybe it is this, above all things, that has led him to wandering around Taiga. He could force himself into the darkness, watching with emerald eyes, peering out from underneath those long lashes that, despite his grown up body, gave him an utterly charming, boyish look. He waves in between the trees, content to simply wander, but Thales hardly plans ahead or looks to see what is coming. Which provides him the consequence of squealing loudly with shock and fear as precise raindrops drop down upon his coat. He feels the slither of the liquid navigate its way to his skin and within a moment the drizzle turns into a pour and Thales is panting and rushing for cover underneath one of the larger trees of Taiga. His breath is ragged and low, fear gripping his heart. “No, no,” he pants, closing his eyes and looking out across the land as the rain piles downwards, soaking everything in sight. He hates this. He hates this. This, he knows. He does not like water, does not like the way the divers in the ground no fill with water making small puddles, that simply await him to accidentally step in one. He growls in his throat, wings folded tightly against his back, ensuring no part of his body falls from beneath the tree to endure the consequence of being touched by the falling sky water. “Get…away…from me,” he stammers, his fractured, broken words a struggle to force out. Ears flatten against his head when the rain does not immediately halt. Clearly, the sky water has not heard his command.
T H A L E S
|
@[Lepis]
The rumble of thunder had cut her trip short, and Lepis turned away from the grey sea and headed inland. Nearly halfway to their nest, Lepis sees the unexpected movement of another horse out in the rain, though he has managed to shelter beneath a tree. Lepis might have passed on by, but she realizes that the horse is a stranger, and so she turns from her path to come nearer. She pauses a few meters from the stallion, far enough to not be a threat but near enough that she might be heard over the patter of the rain. Drawn brows wrinkle the navy striping on the Comtesse’s face, and her blue-grey eyes are concerned.
“Can I...?” She begins, and then rethinks what she’d been about to do as she spoke. She does not broadcast much information about herself, and yet the dun mare had been about to press an emotion into the quivering grullo. She’d stopped just short (and he might feel the faintest echo of something foreign in his psyche). The mare’s nostrils flare wide for a moment, and she takes in the scent of the stranger and finds that he is not so strange after all.
Lepis does not know him, but he smells of the redwood forest and the redwood forest has smelled of him. This is the first time that Lepis has been able to put a face to the nameless stallion she has caught the scent of a few times. Her eyes narrow for just an instant, and then she continues her earlier train of thought with a casually neutral expression.
“Would you like some help with that?” Lepis asks him. “I can’t stop the rain, but I can make it feel better.” It’s a strange offer, but her tipped ears are swiveled forward, and there is an anticipation in her broad and somewhat friendly face. If he assents, he will feel the growing sensation of relaxation. If he does not – or if he does anything else – Lepis’ wings are held not-too close to her sides, the better to flare wide in flight or fight.
@[Thales]
09-01-2019, 04:28 PM
(This post was last modified: 09-01-2019, 04:28 PM by Thales.)
He begins kicking at the tree in frustration, knocking pieces of the bark loose. That he should not destroy things is clearly not a rule he has ever been forced to uphold, so many years spent living as he pleases assuring that certain social standards simply did not exist for him. He likes the solidness that meets his hooves. The hard feeling he gains back, but it is short lived. The rain an ever fearful reminder as it plops upon the tree’s large leaves.
If Thales had been smarter, or, rather, had actually considered others, he may have been all to aware that it would be obvious that Lepis has noticed that he has been creeping around Taiga for some time now. But, as it is, Thales has hardly regarded her in much the same way he disregards so many.
Green eyes turn to face her. He never did like strangers. He always had remained to dangerously wary of those around him. It is clear in way he huddles his body further under the tree, his eyes are cold, but they hold little malcontent, he lacks a certain need for malicious intentions. There is much space still between them, but he already deems her close enough. His ears slide only forward when she begins to speak, cutting herself off before all the tumble from her tongue. “Why are….you…in the rain?” To his mind the question is simple, his fractured, broken words a struggle to force out. She was a silly girl, standing in the rain like that. The shaggy stallion continues to stare out at her unblinking, clearly waiting for some sort of answer.
Her words though, they manage to catch his attention. Stop the rain? Or rather, make it not bother him. “How do…you do that?” He asks, in that baritone voice of his, clearly weary of some sort of trickery afoot here. “Do it,” he says, his voice seeming to even change his tone, indicating perhaps for the first time (if she has not yet already noticed)…..he is not really all there, dilapidated mind displayed. He is so un used to company, having been alone for so long. This is strange.
“Thales,” he says, his voice, for once, clear. It would seem, despite all that his mind has been put through, he still remembers his name. He has offered it to very little in his time roaming, so Lepis should be content with his gift. It was a very good gift after all if you ask Thales.
T H A L E S
|
@[Lepis]
There is something not quite right about the grullo stallion. She doesn't have a name for it, having never met a creature quite like Thales before, but it gives her pause. Though her soft smile does not fade, her blue-grey eyes dart a little more warily into the trees around them. They are alone, she reassures herself, and she is more than capable of defending herself against a single stallion, should the need arise.
Still, with her wide belly and the fragile unborn within in, the dun mare is cautious.
She considers telling him that is it 'just rain', that she likes and dislikes it no more than the average horse, but there is something about his tone and the look in his eyes that suggest to him that it is more than: just rain.
So instead she projects her magic toward him, a steady trickle of relaxation that she means to grow and settle on him like a blanket. She cuts it off after a moment, lest it feel too heavy a burden, too unnatural, but before she does she adds the smallest bit of friendship and just a dash of contentment.
"I'm Lepis", she tells the not-quite stranger. "These are my woods. Do you live here?"
@[Thales]
|
