She's elegant, even in her attempt to dismiss him, and he is drawn towards this properness with a craving that isn't often satisfied. He can't quite put his horn on why, but he has the irresistible desire to tarnish her, to see the paleness of her coat decorated with different colors, to watch the fluidity of her mousy smile crumple.

Perhaps it's because she tried to dismiss him, like he was nothing, like he was beneath her - maybe that's the vein she strikes, her all-too-pleasant manners an insinuation that she is better. Or it could be as simple as the fact she is a blank canvas in which he can carve whatever manner of misdeeds he pleases.

Whatever the reason is not nearly as important to Öde as what he intends to do with his feelings. He grips them tightly, caught there in the line of his neck as his muscles twitch beneath his hide. Yet there's is a noticeable shift; the girl and her gray sister both are snared by something in him, something hanging from him. As their gaze travels further down his smile spreads, and in response his bulge twitches, bucking against the confines of the leather cradle. Now the wolf can't help but come out in his grin.

It does not escape Öde that the other stallion pulls himself up higher (and that he is in fact higher), but neither does Öde ignore the bout of silence the lad takes up. Öde ignores him, granting him little else than that initial cursory glance; his focus is wholly granted to the mares at hoof.

"Ah, your sister," Öde comments with understanding. "I would never have known..." he confesses with an apologetic tilt of his head, so minor it's nearly imperceptible. Oizy's attempts to encourage her sister back home with them, and though Öde can't imagine why she wouldn't, he isn't done with the game just yet. As the gargoyle girl corrects herself with us, Öde tilts his head the other way, red eyes smiling from his dark features as his idle lion's tail slaps sharply against his flanks. "The company there is... delightful," Öde croons, his voice not quite the rough gravel bass of their father and his friend, but a bit more svelte and rich, like a velvet walk laid over a bloody mess. "The right company makes everything, bearable."