When the former Weaver had finally emerged from his hibernation at the last herd meeting the old stallion had watched him with keen, if apprehensive, attention. He’d watched the candy-corn drag his feet and smile half-heartedly at the herd around him, too wary of having that peppermint horn aimed in his direction to actually approach.
He’s never known the little stallion to get
angry or even any of the emotions close to it, but mistreating his wife and assaulting his daughter
on more than one occasion while he'd been confined to his sickbed is probably as likely as anything ever will be to draw out the ire hidden within his sugary hide. Even so, the old black can’t seem to prevent himself from wondering, just now and then, how the little Peppermint Pony is doing.
It’s too strong a lure to resist then, when he hears that familiar soprano voice rising in the valley. He turns to follow the sound at a leisurely pace, hanging back until two other figures drift ahead of him, relieved to have familiar bodies and personalities to pad the coming encounter if he finds himself unwelcome.
The old stallions features mirror the others curiosity, though he too chooses to remain silent, slinking up beside the General to inspect the crafters handiwork. Whatever the tiny oval is, it smells
delicious, and if the determined furrow across the candy-corns brow is any indication,
more are on the way. His mouth waters approvingly and his green eyes flicker up to the Peppermint Ponys matching emeralds at last, questioning. Are we still friends? He wonders, but to ask so would be admitting that he'd considered them friends in the first place, or that he'd done something deserving of
unfriending, both admissions he's far from ready to make, especially in company.
"Talk."
OOC //
@Johnny
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