One of the creatures is louder, bossier, than the others. He draws a lot of attention to himself fast, but even the Yeti can see that his comrades don’t listen to him.

It’s at him that the Yeti is glaring with his full set of yellowed teeth gleaming in the open air, knowing full and well that the dark one has crossed behind him, and not caring. The larger threat to the ape-like creature is not the beast pinned to the ground and wingless, for surely the horse cannot out climb a mountain ape born in this land, but the two in front of him, who can take to the skies, skipping the climb all together; while the Yeti isn’t highly intelligent, his instincts warn him of as much.

His thick, white brows furrow atop his angrily glinting eyes, trying to best gauge how to proceed with his assault when the bossy, four legged thing speaks.

It’s a lot of words.

The Yeti roars in response, slamming his fists into the ground, but he stands his ground, does not move closer or further away from the creatures which surround him. He does this mostly because he has to stall for his slower though processes, and doesn’t want them to assume he’s stupid (even though he is).

Now, there was something about, well, him, because he’s a Yeti, right (he thinks that what he is, anyway)? And then something else about unicorns – but none of them are unicorns. His mother had told him that they were four legged and had one horn, and while he didn’t remember much, he did remember things his mother had thought to tell him about (and these things weren’t many).

He could count to five, and he knew that these creatures had two horns, or one horns and some wings, but none wore just a single horn at all.

He deduces the large, dark pelted male is lying to him, and answers his first uproarious gestures with a second – hurling his branch heavily in the direction of the bossy thing who has been found untruthful by Yeti logic.

”You lie to Ugga!” he bellows.

But as his branch whistles through the air, the woman horse says something else, something that registers a bit more in the simple thoughts of the brutish, blue faced (though now slightly purple, because being mad and flailing about like his is can make one go red in the cheeks) Ugga.

His shoulders drop, his angry grimace slips into a more lax one, looking towards the female with an expression that is full of wonder at the intuition of women. Even Yeti ladies seem to be better at guessing what to say and do than the men. As she says you, multiple times, on the second landing of the word he points to himself, right in the center of his chest, and repeats the motion as she repeats the word.

I don’t think he means to, honestly. It’s impulse.

”Ugga need cave,” he says, blinking as if this is the most obvious of answers ever, his thickly fingered hand falling down to dangle alongside him, ”but snow where caves should be.”

He points, back into the tree line, where along the face of the mountains which rim the valley are caves, caves which he had seen from the peaks above and which had lured him down into territory that smelled occupied. It was a last resort.

”Caves there,” he says, ”Ugga fight for one if Ugga have to.”