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Warriors, he snorts to the mares receding back. The only kind of bravery they seem to understand is that of throwing oneself forcibly toward an adversary. "A coward would be tucked safely in bed Corporal, not addressing strangers at the border - shouting or not. Don't mistake my canniness for cowardice." She's still close enough to hear, but he doubts she'll care to listen. The young and brash are like that, parading around believing themselves to be of utmost importance and utterly invincible until the world sees fit to knock them down. He's seen it all before.
Mortuus Nox, the young medic who helped with the gardens (though calling them so is a stretch of the imagination) briefly offers a word of warning before moving on. The old black just stares, unaffected. It's probably good advice, but it's the kind of good advice that takes all the fun out of things.
He listens, barely, as rough introductions are made and words are exchanged. His attentions are busy with eyeing the strangers excessively hairy mutt, thinking that dogs are not nearly far enough removed from wolves despite their aesthetic differences when an uneasy silence breaks his distraction.
"Don't waste your Misses and Sirs on this lot." He indicates the Corporal, the Scourge, and the Basin at large with a sweeping motion of his nose. "They won't have you, versed or not." And he strongly suspects not is the more likely. "Let's play a game son. One of these things is not like the others." His tone suggests humor, but there's something distinctly unkind in the way he emphasizes some words and not others, as if he expects them to have a particular impact on the dewy-eyed stranger.
Mortuus Nox, the young medic who helped with the gardens (though calling them so is a stretch of the imagination) briefly offers a word of warning before moving on. The old black just stares, unaffected. It's probably good advice, but it's the kind of good advice that takes all the fun out of things.
He listens, barely, as rough introductions are made and words are exchanged. His attentions are busy with eyeing the strangers excessively hairy mutt, thinking that dogs are not nearly far enough removed from wolves despite their aesthetic differences when an uneasy silence breaks his distraction.
"Don't waste your Misses and Sirs on this lot." He indicates the Corporal, the Scourge, and the Basin at large with a sweeping motion of his nose. "They won't have you, versed or not." And he strongly suspects not is the more likely. "Let's play a game son. One of these things is not like the others." His tone suggests humor, but there's something distinctly unkind in the way he emphasizes some words and not others, as if he expects them to have a particular impact on the dewy-eyed stranger.
@Daemyn @Mortuus Nox @Ki'irha
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