He watches the bronze respond to his bondeds assessment of ‘infantile’ with a mild amusement, attributing the sudden exchange of sass to an underlying affection not different from his own mostly good natured harassment of the young python still haphazardly draped across his face, but as the mares comments sink in and her features remain unchanged, apprehension quickly overshadows his humor. “How old is Hubris?” He asks uneasily, trying to estimate the number of seasons since his own companion hatched and reasoning that it couldn't have been more than six or seven months ago, a short enough time to still truly call him a child, but now he wonders if the snake will always be so simplistic, permanently young instead of temporarily.

“Don’t they – I don’t know – absorb something of the mind they’re bonded to?” It’s worded as a question, but he’s not sure if he’s trying to argue with the mare or convince himself by posing it. “Age and experience?” He adds less with less certainty. Nothing remains entirely unchanged over time, he thinks, but then the mare is returning to the previous subject and he’s tugged away from the train of thought.

He nods in agreement with her, having seen the varied faces gathered around an orb, an egg, a promise of something special, having been one of those faces more than once. Truthfully, he’s not sure what to make of the Gods and Goddess himself. If there were ever deities present in his homeland he never knew of them and never took much stock in the probability of their existence, certainly never let a decision be swayed by religious or cultural tenets, but here the gods have voices, faces, physical bodies - though he has no doubt of their malleability – and take some part in the governing of their herds, though he hasn’t seen any of that occurring in the Basin as of yet. He idly wonders if they even have a Harspex anymore, or if the blanket spotted mare has abandoned them like the limp-horned before her.

He has received a magic, and though it manifested suddenly and without ceremony soon after he took up residence in the north, he wonders if the God of the Spark or one of the other three ancients personally granted it to him, if all magic is controlled and meted out in such a way, or if it's something of a chance. His eyes drift back to the reef outside their glass confines, pondering in silence until the mares question rouses him again.

"I've found that just being present is usually enough. The creatures that come baring magics and items will say they've been entrusted with the decision of whom their gifts might go to, but twice I've seen them contradict themselves. Perhaps the gods choose far ahead of time." He smiles sidelong, still looking out into the oceanscape. "Ether way, help is a strong word for any action I might take, though I can certainly be bought."

He turns to meet her gaze then, emerald against amber, and though he's sure he should be struck by something more - the size of her, both physical size and intangible presence, the picture she makes with her regal posture and obviously high quality accessories, the very fact that she is, at least in part, godly - it's something as simple as the color of her eyes that he focuses on, so deeply bronze and lit as if from within. He glances between her and the dragon once, wondering if all bonded pairs have some kind of matching system, acutely aware that the dorsal stripe running down his pythons back is very nearly the same shade of auburn as his beard and relenting, at least in the quiet of his own mind, that the gods may play a larger role in Helovian life than he assumes.



"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Isopia Sorry if this is rambly, I just kind of let myself type. xD