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04-22-2016, 07:35 AM
As if on cue, a figure steps out from between the evergreen trunks – two actually, one large and one small, comparatively. The larger is mostly hidden from his sight by a violet cape spread wide across her back, and he makes a mental note to find out where she was able to have it dyed to such a rich color, his own woven scarf still the plain and uninspiring off-white of raw cotton. As the mare strides toward him he can also see the metallic sheen of something silver wrapped tight around one foreleg. Jewelry? He wonders, doubly interested now. The smaller figure slinks dutifully along behind her, quick and smooth and unmistakably feline in nature - her companion, he assumes, and is relieved to finally find someone with a little sense in choice of allies. Or is it a choice?
He doesn't know much about companions, but still it bogles the old man's mind how many equids have thrown in their lot with mutts and wolves around here. Oh, sure, they’d make loyal and useful enough companions, he knows that, but all the common sense and rationalization in the world isn’t enough to staunch his conditioned hatred, continually strengthened by frequently recurring nightmares, always with a constant backtrack of howling...
“Indeed,” he answers her query. “And I’m afraid my cave is in just the right spot to catch the worst of the wind.” Looking back at the little opening in question, he puts on his best ‘poor me, all old and helpless’ expression and for extra effect even arches his neck to unfurl the scarf tied there over his skinny, mane-less crest. Politeness isn't his forte, but where freezing to death and personal comfort are concerned he's quite capable of making a valiant enough effort. It never hurts to be a young, attractive mare with a non-canine companion in this equation either. “I don't suppose you'd care to assist me?"
He doesn't know much about companions, but still it bogles the old man's mind how many equids have thrown in their lot with mutts and wolves around here. Oh, sure, they’d make loyal and useful enough companions, he knows that, but all the common sense and rationalization in the world isn’t enough to staunch his conditioned hatred, continually strengthened by frequently recurring nightmares, always with a constant backtrack of howling...
“Indeed,” he answers her query. “And I’m afraid my cave is in just the right spot to catch the worst of the wind.” Looking back at the little opening in question, he puts on his best ‘poor me, all old and helpless’ expression and for extra effect even arches his neck to unfurl the scarf tied there over his skinny, mane-less crest. Politeness isn't his forte, but where freezing to death and personal comfort are concerned he's quite capable of making a valiant enough effort. It never hurts to be a young, attractive mare with a non-canine companion in this equation either. “I don't suppose you'd care to assist me?"
@Zandora
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