Albrecht

He lies huddled against the back wall of the cave, letting its smooth surface aid in supporting his weight. Each leg is carefully folded so that a section of copper fringe is spread beneath the weary joints, protecting them from the hard stone floor. His nose is tucked into the soft skin of an armpit for maximum heat retention. A well-practiced survivalist, he’s even laid the tuft of his tail over the smooth hide of his neck.

Thin clouds of steam rise like a privacy curtain at the entrance of the den. He’s chosen the one closest to the hot springs, of course, so even as outside temperatures fluctuate between freezing and slightly less freezing his small pocket of stone and dirt hangs in the range of tolerable lukewarm and allows him a peaceful nights rest for the first time in a very long while.

Stirring from this state of unexpected pleasantness the stallion’s dark face rises with both ears forward, a sigh of content quietly fluttering his nostrils. He's glad he followed the piebald here, even if she did drag him halfway across the world. The view had been enjoyable and the destination even more so.

Soft crunching outside signals someone passing by, hardened hooves breaking through the frost that coats everything by sunrise and takes nearly until evening to thaw. The black listens, unmoving for a span of time until a second someone marching past rouses him again. The light outside has grown substantially and he supposes grudgingly that this is as warm as the day plans to get.

He stretches carefully, extending each section of bone and muscle by small increments until he feels like one cohesive being capable of movement. The stiffness is slow to leave him, but the hours spent in comfort have done him a kindness and he exits the cave in noticeably better form than when he’d entered it.

The day is clear and bright, but a pallid Orangemoon sun does nothing to warm the world beneath it. Black ears slip into their customary pout, insisting that they’d never strayed. The stallion ogles the hot springs with open longing, but his stomach aches for sustenance and he knows it’ll be long hours before he abandons the waters loving embrace once he indulges.

The other unicorns must live off something decent, for all their pomp and primping. "I fully expect a banquet table covered in candied clover and wild alfalfa." He quips to no one. There’s no one to hear him, but he doesn't speak for the benefit of others anyway and totters off in the same direction as the two early-risers.


//

OOC: Just assume you can see him before he sees you. Old eyes and all that.

The Curmudgeon