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Careful with that honeyed tongue This stallion. He remembered him. He didn't much like him - though he didn't utterly dislike him either. They had met before when this Rohan was wandering around, testing out the herdlands, acting as if he was above it all. He'd told Torleik a crumbling glass wall wasn't the best way to get newcomers to join. Torleik had wished, in return, to push his smart mouth into said crumbling glass wall. Being a smartass wasn't hard. Keeping yourself from being a smartass actually took skill. It was all well and good, though, and the Edge King had not actually anticipated seeing Rohan again. Though the stallion would be welcome, it had not seemed as though he was impressed with their currently-being-remodeled home. Apparently this impression was incorrect. The Bloodskald spotted his form before he saw Ophelia and another he didn't recognize, but the flirtatious words that fell from this antler-horned Casanova's lips rankled the king's ire. "One of them is mine; slake your thirst elsewhere, rake," the ruler rumbled, his tone amiable, but vibrating with a potentially dangerous edge as he came to Ophelia's side and stood shoulder to shoulder with her. Torleik made a short motion of touching his muzzle to her neck; no overt display was necessary. "I believe I missed whatever introduction you laid out, but I remember you, Rohan. It seems our crumbling glass wall did not deter you, after all, hm? Mauja and I are ever so glad." Did he feel guilty for being a smartass here? Perhaps a little. But the Bloodskald was not always above playing another's game, and he did find this Rohan mildly amusing, at least. Both males were marked with wounds that may or may not leave scars, but Torleik gave no mind to his appearance in this manner. Cuts, bleeding, pain and wounds, all were familiar to him as a warrior. If he gained another scar, what of it? Just another permanent reminder of a moment in his history, and history was written by the victors. To be proud of his wounds seemed foreign to him; one should only be proud of his effort, his victory, his adherence to cause. Sobering slightly, he addressed the other comer to this little soiree, curious. "Are you all right?" She seemed...frail. Perhaps malnourished? No. Not quite. But something about the other one was withdrawn, sucked in, and it concerned Torleik deeply. "Do you require a healer?" His eyes flick to Rohan, studying the stallion's wounds as well. "And you, Rohan - do you require healing? I can fetch a læknir if you wish." His offer was not an afterthought, merely offered to the male second, as a sign of respect. Some warriors found healers to be beneath them. If the wound had not killed them already then they should recover under their own strength - such was a common line of reasoning amongst his homeland. Mayhap Rohan felt the same. If he did not, here was his offer. Two others addressed, his attention drifted, as it always did, to his woman, to Ophelia, and his kinglike nature softened. So many thoughts jumbled his head. So many feelings confused themselves within him. She had gone off without him, again, up north. Luckily he had followed the call and found her there so he could be with her to battle. Did she ever need him? Would she ever stay? Torleik did not know if he could...adapt to her enough, if she never adapted to him as well. The thought frightened him. Pushing such personal matters aside, he refocused on the newcomers, expectantly awaiting their answers for healing. "talk talk talk" |
@Ophelia
@Rohan
@Cassiopia
![[Image: 531c0b471919e]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/531c0b471919e)
No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D
Pixel by: Tamme :D
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