The slightest taint of disappointment drifted across the face of the strider as a voice cut through the silence, joining in on the disruption of peace and quiet in a weak and feeble sort of way. Most of it was concealed by the expressionless skull, that continued to stretch its jagged teeth into a smug, knowing sort of leer capable of unnerving just about anyone; though perhaps a slight twist of those smirking lips turned the amusement into a grimace, anticipation into a shrug and a sigh that let out tension and frustration in a stream of white mist that glittered in the cold air before slowly dissolving.

"Do as you please, Son of Tyradon" the dark one replied and relaxed his stance, crown lowering back down towards the ground. "Apparently I'm taking order from that father of yours, you're in no danger on my part."

Was there a touch of sarcasm lurking behind well-spoken vocals? Some sort of embitterment did seem to loom over the stag like a dark cloud as he went back to lipping at the ice, slowly sating his thirst by partaking in clear, clean crystals and powdery snow. Big hooves and sturdy legs brought him through the deep snow with relative ease, all while a overly long tail slithered like a fur-clad snake over the surface, drawing wispy lines ever in his wake. Once satisfied, the thrice-pierced stallion made his way over to a nearby tree and placed himself by the trunk, casually leaning back against it with a content grunt.

Don't mistake a lazy yawn or casual demeanor for relaxation, however. Even as he settled down to rest beneath the pine the senses of the heathen were intensely focused on the stranger, ears twisting and nostrils pulsating ever so slightly as air and sound was sampled for traces of movement. Son of Tyradon, indeed. As if that would open paths anywhere; Morir could have laughed, if it hadn't been for the seriousness of the situation. He had no idea what kind of weight that ass had to throw around here, but if it was even half of what the grand bastard himself and Confutatis claimed then they would have to watch out. The wild stallion from the northern moor wasn't one to suffer unjust treatment without consequence; he would get his payback, somehow, someday.

To now be faced with the bastard son of that bastard... Oh how he must have scorned the Lady Luck. "What are you doing out here, Son of Tyradon?" he grunted brusquely, yellowed ivories snapping viciously at a cluster of needles as they got in the way of his head. Sour taste both fresh and pungent exploded between his teeth; then came the bitterness and with a shudder of delight he kept chewing, patient as a rock white listening for an answer.