05-21-2020, 04:47 AM
There’s little that a dragon-horse doesn’t spy quickly in the cold and relatively empty land; his heat vision finds the living quickly, and even if he doesn’t use it or pays attention to the signatures around him, his gaze picks out the vibrant shape of the mare as quickly as a hawk would a mouse.
She is no mouse though. If she would be, she wouldn’t look so disdainful, letting the melting snow stick to her hoofs and making faces at it. His baritone voice - one of the few things he’d inherited from his father - can be heard in a low chuckle, but only if she pays attention to it (which he doubts, since she looks busy with the ashy snow drool).
He moves from his place in the shadows of the western forest - Forest of Burnt Sticks, he’d called it - and drops the darkness aura he’d wrapped himself in. He likes to keep from sight every now and then and see how the others behave when he’s not present. Is that spying on his own people or just curiosity, or even insecurity about his own leadership? Hmm. He drops it like the shadows that surrounded him, moving towards the colorful mare in the open.
”It’s better in winter, when it’s frozen solid - or maybe you’d prefer midsummer, when it’s all dry, black granite.” He approaches her with a slow, but confident walk. His golden tail flickers a bit behind him when he halts, his icy blue gaze assessing the mare shortly. ”Name’s Leilan. To whom do I owe this absolute pleasure of a visit?” he tilts his head a little, grinning - he can’t help it if his teeth are pointy now; it’s her look that warrants the subconscious change.
She hardly looks like she wants to join his band on the Isle with those grimaces she made, although honestly, she looks like the type who could handle herself well enough around here. Maybe he should have poked Chem to greet her; he might charm her enough. But she smells thickly of the south, and of milk, so perhaps she would not stay however many handsome men might greet her.
A new start and a bunch of men to pick from would be a great offer to most, but not if one was already occupied.
Too bad.
She is no mouse though. If she would be, she wouldn’t look so disdainful, letting the melting snow stick to her hoofs and making faces at it. His baritone voice - one of the few things he’d inherited from his father - can be heard in a low chuckle, but only if she pays attention to it (which he doubts, since she looks busy with the ashy snow drool).
He moves from his place in the shadows of the western forest - Forest of Burnt Sticks, he’d called it - and drops the darkness aura he’d wrapped himself in. He likes to keep from sight every now and then and see how the others behave when he’s not present. Is that spying on his own people or just curiosity, or even insecurity about his own leadership? Hmm. He drops it like the shadows that surrounded him, moving towards the colorful mare in the open.
”It’s better in winter, when it’s frozen solid - or maybe you’d prefer midsummer, when it’s all dry, black granite.” He approaches her with a slow, but confident walk. His golden tail flickers a bit behind him when he halts, his icy blue gaze assessing the mare shortly. ”Name’s Leilan. To whom do I owe this absolute pleasure of a visit?” he tilts his head a little, grinning - he can’t help it if his teeth are pointy now; it’s her look that warrants the subconscious change.
She hardly looks like she wants to join his band on the Isle with those grimaces she made, although honestly, she looks like the type who could handle herself well enough around here. Maybe he should have poked Chem to greet her; he might charm her enough. But she smells thickly of the south, and of milk, so perhaps she would not stay however many handsome men might greet her.
A new start and a bunch of men to pick from would be a great offer to most, but not if one was already occupied.
Too bad.
nothing burns like the cold
Leilan
@[Rebelle]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
| 