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08-09-2015, 03:43 PM
Ashamin is painfully quiet. There is little response to his words, only the feeble offer of a spar someday. Caleb, though built muscularly, is only two years of age. The recently turned stallion truly only knows the basics of spars, despite the fact that everyone that sees him automatically assumes he is honed and perfected. Ashamin, in fact, may know much more about fighting than the dark stallion. 17.1 hands of solid muscle is no good when the wielder does not know how to use it. His skills are adequate, rough around the edges, but with some training may be perfect. In the end, it may be Ashamin teaching Caleb. Still, these inner thoughts are not voiced, instead he speaks calmly, accepting the offer. "It'd be an honor to spar with a fellow Basineer." It was true, it would be an honor. He would not only learn about Ashamin in battle and hone his skills, but he could also prove himself to those around him.
At Caleb's next words, the slight smile that tugs his lips is more of a cringe then anything. The brooding beast quietly wonders what to do, not comprehending the paint's cringe. "I do love the snow though, but I await acclimation with baited breath." ASHAMIN faces the brute, his eyes kind and sincere and honest. Caleb has none of those traits. The beast is cold and indifferent, icy, yet so heated it burns. A sprinkle of gold turns solid as a stallion appears from out of nowhere, he is questioning, almost unsure that the hybrid is here, in a land of unicorns, deemed a guest, not family. Though this dark titan doesn't know if he wants to call this palomino stallion family, not yet.
Ashamin is quick to answer, calling the stud my lord and being kind, kissing his ass. Caleb's dark brow lifts, curious, as Ashamin says everything, answering for the brute who does indeed have a functioning voice. "Yes, I am Caleb, and the hound is Henrietta." At the mention of her name, Henrietta perks up, eyes leaving the piece of juicy venison in Ashamin's sarong to glance upwards at Caleb, curious as to what her master desires. Ashamin extends the invite to this lord. This Thranduil, is he a tyrant?
At Caleb's next words, the slight smile that tugs his lips is more of a cringe then anything. The brooding beast quietly wonders what to do, not comprehending the paint's cringe. "I do love the snow though, but I await acclimation with baited breath." ASHAMIN faces the brute, his eyes kind and sincere and honest. Caleb has none of those traits. The beast is cold and indifferent, icy, yet so heated it burns. A sprinkle of gold turns solid as a stallion appears from out of nowhere, he is questioning, almost unsure that the hybrid is here, in a land of unicorns, deemed a guest, not family. Though this dark titan doesn't know if he wants to call this palomino stallion family, not yet.
Ashamin is quick to answer, calling the stud my lord and being kind, kissing his ass. Caleb's dark brow lifts, curious, as Ashamin says everything, answering for the brute who does indeed have a functioning voice. "Yes, I am Caleb, and the hound is Henrietta." At the mention of her name, Henrietta perks up, eyes leaving the piece of juicy venison in Ashamin's sarong to glance upwards at Caleb, curious as to what her master desires. Ashamin extends the invite to this lord. This Thranduil, is he a tyrant?
