Albrecht

A lopsided smile pulls weakly at the corners of the stallion’s mouth as the boy gives his impromptu introduction. Old and pointy is a rather apt description, he thinks, and though the words themselves are unflattering, the young colt pronounces them with perfectly innocent humor. That he also acknowledges a name associated with the description is a logistical comfort, because at least he’ll have something concrete to track the elder down with should he ever need to, though ‘old and pointy,’ would likely be just as effective. He’s yet to see anyone quite as decrepit as he is among the natives.

The two boys begin to chat among themselves, splitting the conversation between child and adult, the blue-bay mare clearly concerned that a member of her herd has been misplaced and focused entirely on remedying the situation, planning aloud until a familiar rumble interjects.

The white faced stallion - the handsome, bulging muscle one, not to be confused with the witty, effeminate one, though both are enjoyable company in their own ways – joins their small group, drawing a low, single note of greeting from the old stallion, his gratitude to the warrior and his dragons for saving his manhood still fresh as the moment the last thorn was plucked from his precious plums. He nods agreeably to their plot of search parties, investigation, but quickly becomes skeptical when asked to describe the mare. Do they not even know who she is? Glancing down at the colt, his colt, he wonders again just how long the boy has been alone. Has he been raising himself all this time? His brows furrow, anger and sadness warring for dominance in his expression.

“Smaller than me.” He starts, trying to remember the details of her body without breathing life into how he came to know them. “Though maybe a bit taller than you, Ampere. Young. There’s something wrong with her right ear.” He remembers the scars, the tattered edges, how she’d held her head at an angle to hear him. “Tawny, but frosted. Greying. The tips of her wings are brown.” Self-consciously, his tail sweeps closer to his hind legs, hoping the single primary feather twined in its hairs stays hidden. Why hasn't he removed it? He chides himself, making a mental note to do so and stash it in his scarf with the other trinkets later.

"I thought she'd be here." He admits, softer than before, turning his head to watch the two colts leaning into one another and gesturing with their wings. Resentment builds in his chest. He'd told her he would take the foal. He'd known she wouldn't love him, couldn't maybe, for the sins of his father. That she would lie - 'Of course I will keep and care for him,' rings bitterly through his mind - and take him only to make him suffer is inexcusable, no matter the hypocrisy involved in believing that while having committed rape to create him in the first place. He sighs, turning back to the Indomitable and Mother of Companions for guidance. What now?


"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Saoirse @Volterra