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08-20-2012, 06:57 AM
He softened further to her words, a reaction the coal hued mare welcomed, his eager smile and hopeful eyes screaming louder than his words ever could that he yearned for what she had to offer. Mirage was pleased by this, but also momentarily apprehensive; he placed so much trust in her, what if she could not deliver all that she promised? The mare was no liar; a trickster, maybe, but not a liar. Kindly she stepped closer to him, her golden eyes clinging to his own, willing her words to be understood. A small sadness appeared in her façade, but it was well hidden beneath her usually clear, emotionless palette. "We care for those who call themselves Qian." Here, she extended her velvet muzzle to his shoulder, hoping to indicate that he too, was now considered Qian. "We protect those who cannot protect themselves." A shifting of weight, a gentle paw of the earth with her right foreleg. "We offer aid when aid can be offered." Chiselled features nodded slightly, hoping the steed of few words understood the concept of her kin, at the very least. Once again, she pressed her maw against his shoulder, blowing her warm breath over his muscular back. "Recognise my scent, it marks us all." Her words were firm here, serious. She wanted him to know that any who called themselves Qian had been scent marked by herself personally, that they could be trusted. "We are wanderers, with no home." A small sigh erupted through her nostrils, interrupting the speech for an extra breath. That hint of sadness returned. "We must fight for a home." It was not a prospect Mirage liked to think about, but she was a WeyrLeader, without a Weyr to Lead, per se. So her thoughts had no choice but to think of ways to provide the necessities for her beloved kin, and she did look forward to the prospect of having a home. It was as the Moon Goddess had proclaimed; better they die trying for a homeland than slowly rotting in the wilds. Her gaze had dropped in the silent moments that had passed, but now it rose again, meeting his own with a renewed sharpness, vigour. "Will you follow me, Gaspard?" |
