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The painted girl smiles briefly, then stares, and Slaiter once again remembers harsh words, merciless attacks. They had all stared too, shocked by his appearance or behavior. He almost flees, hooves moving nervously beneath him, ready to race away into the dim jungle of vines and trees. He is taller, with longer legs and a frame better suited for speed. He could outrun her, disappear from view and stay that way until she gives up the hunt. It would be easy, he thinks, so very easy. His curiosity is not deep enough to risk harm and hatred.
She speaks then, the sound startling him as it breaks the uncomfortable silence that had stretched between them. He flinches away instinctively, body reacting before the words sink in, carrying him several steps away. But his mind processes what has been said, and black eyes watch as her head dips down, perhaps in some sort of submissive gesture. She called me 'sir', his thoughts whisper in childish delight, and slowly he stills his restless feet. No one has called him sir before, and surely this means she doesn't want to harm him? Another smile and continued speech settle him further, prompting him to simply listen as she reminds him of their previous meeting. The Threshold, and he remembers now, she had come through the storm and spoken to the rain-born fae he had chosen to follow home. Somehow, they must have separated on their way to the caves, depriving him of the chance to know her.
"Yes," he simply states, answering her questions without knowing why they were asked. If she remembers enough of the encounter to speak them, why seek answers she already knows? Is this one of those odd social things mother had always tried to teach him of? Mentally he shrugs, disregarding such things. She is entitled to phrase her words however she pleases, after all. If she wishes to issue queries, who is he to judge?
Suddenly there is another, a large black creature who barges into the conversation as if such actions are the most natural thing in the world. Their is mirth in his voice, at least, even if his mere presence and attitude unnerve the monster-son. Resisting the urge to slink away, Slaiter simply steps back further, tail beginning to twitch in agitation. One small, semi-familiar mare is something he can handle, but this bold, muscled beast is another thing entirely. Meekly, the unicorn watches as the newcomer strides to Abishia like he owns her, circling possessively, predatory, around her form. She seems comfortable with the attention, he notices, greeting him fondly, even reaching out to touch the stranger. Does this mean that the other stallion is also a non-threat?
Perhaps not. After his inspection of the girl, he immediately rounds on the ghoul. tones cold, words accusing. Black-rimmed ears flatten at the sudden turn of events. He had done nothing wrong, simply spoken to the paint. It was the stranger, this Windwalker, who had decided to start trouble, chosen to turn a peaceful encounter hostile. What did he even mean by 'having his way with her'? Completely ignorant of such matters, Slaiter can only assume that the wingless pegasus has taken him for a monster who wishes to eat the mare. Confused, annoyed, and somewhat unnerved by the directness of the other stallion, Slaiter can only shake his head in a vehement denial of the claims. Again, he skitters away, retreating further in case the black male lashes out.
Kissing death and losing my breath
Slaiter
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