Albrecht

Away. Life. They're broad, generic terms meant to appease the one asking without actually giving any meaningful answers. He knows the tactic well, has used it extensively himself, so it's with mild acceptance that the black nods his head, taking the mares refusal to share herself more as a sign of intelligence than a sign of distrust. He offered the out himself with his tentative wording, so what offense can he take now? It's hardly a concern of his what afflictions and demons drive her to wandering. Though he enjoys her banter and friendly nudges, the presence or absence of one piebald unicorn does little to change the course of his days.

Much like his initial attraction to the candy-corn Weaver, he's finding the need for such benign relationships lessening as the scope of his magical prowess widens, enabling him to simply create and then take whatever kind of exchange he craves at the time, and beyond that, he has the benefit of a companion now. Young and impressionable as he is, the small python is still a constant, inseparable support for his occasional bouts of loneliness and emotional weakness. The snake tightens his hold of the old stallions left horn in wordless answer, agreeing with the mental almost-endearment.

She asks about him then, shifting the burden of conversation from her own weary shoulders to his skeletal ones. The stallion grins with unabashed amusement, a hint of deeper unkindness to the expression that shifts it from friendly to feral. Oh, you know, He thinks, Lying, stealing, assaulting, raping. His tangled, tufted tail sweeps out to the side as if to dismiss the gravity of the thought. "Corroding my soul mostly, whatever's left of it." He says instead, as general and unenlightening as she'd been in her earlier responses.

He watches her watch the sunrise for a moment, admiring the way the warm tones of light seem to catch on the tips of her wooly Frostfall coat. She certainly looks at home here, for all her allusions otherwise. "You should check out the Secret Grove sometime, lots of happenings there, or so I hear." He's not sure what the purpose of the invitation is, but he can't help himself extending it anyway. Would he have her witness his antics, or would he have her become one? Is there some ludicrous idea of her becoming an accomplice in the invitation, the muscle to his mind, though so far he hasn't had need of any. He mulls the thought, irritated to think that perhaps he simply wants her attention, some childish holdover of the notion of friendship.

He shakes his bearded head, still at the mares back, and turns to descend the rocky slope, his mind almost violently seeking comfort in the wordless presence of his young companion, forcibly conditioning himself to understand that there is no need for any other, his subconscious latching onto and repeating the idea like a mantra. He gives no farewell, taking the mares small talk and staring off into the horizon as clue enough to the end of their chat. Strom tilts his head to look back at the piebald, confused again by his bondeds contrary thoughts and behavior, but shrugs the confusion away in favor of his sudden inclusion. If hating others makes the old stallion love him more, then he'll happily fan the flames.



"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Tangere I'm cool with that!