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Seanan shuffles back a bit as the unicorn scowls, then stops. His body goes still except for the occasional tremble of his thin skin. He watches the black turn to leave, head tilted like a curious dog, ears perked towards him, alert. Interesting how he puts it. A residence. It seems like everyone he meets in this land is a stranger to it, displaced. Foreign.
It is too cold to linger, he decides, his tail lifting to flag briefly as he makes his decision. Really, there was never a decision to make. He know why he is here, even if his mind occasionally shies from the purpose. He knows it's futility, and even so he cannot avoid it. Nor has he any desire to live under another's rule.
"I am no one's warrior." It is not soft or sing-song, but the words are somewhat cavalier, casually tossed out in a way that hides anything deeper beneath them. Perhaps there is nothing. Seanan takes a few cautious steps back to put some distance between him and the black, then wheels and lengthens his stride into a ground eating trot that quickly stretches out into sprint. The wind is cold, but it is the wind and it is his friend. He would rather listen to the pounding of his heart than the whispers of the past or present. This time, at least, he had the courtesy to ensure he did not kick snow on the elder who had deigned to speak with him for a while.
@Albrecht
It is too cold to linger, he decides, his tail lifting to flag briefly as he makes his decision. Really, there was never a decision to make. He know why he is here, even if his mind occasionally shies from the purpose. He knows it's futility, and even so he cannot avoid it. Nor has he any desire to live under another's rule.
"I am no one's warrior." It is not soft or sing-song, but the words are somewhat cavalier, casually tossed out in a way that hides anything deeper beneath them. Perhaps there is nothing. Seanan takes a few cautious steps back to put some distance between him and the black, then wheels and lengthens his stride into a ground eating trot that quickly stretches out into sprint. The wind is cold, but it is the wind and it is his friend. He would rather listen to the pounding of his heart than the whispers of the past or present. This time, at least, he had the courtesy to ensure he did not kick snow on the elder who had deigned to speak with him for a while.
@Albrecht
All interactions are go, short of death and permanent crippling.
