Having done something – arguably, but allowances have to be made when the mere absence of viciousness accounts for the epitome of a character’s sweetness – nice, for probably the first time since entering Helovia, and met with nothing but a white rimmed, sidelong glance and a lingering impression of less than gratitude from the antlered stallion, the old black’s expression creases with a mix of annoyance and confusion. He hasn’t said anything disparaging, so what the actual fuck is this about? He thinks bitterly, instantly on the defensive. Butterfly boy said he wanted to join, Butterfly boy got to join, what the fuck else was he expecting?

Feeling mistreated, persecuted even by the intensity of that glance, he leans away from the smaller stallion, allowing Tiamat to fully take over the conversation. He drifts nearer to her side, and more importantly, farther from the other stallion's when she steps forward to welcome him as she had the old black just moments ago, taking silent solace in her unwavering tolerance, even kindness, toward him.

‘Nice,’ chimes his companion, placing the cobalt mare among an exalted class, only Tangere and Lena having earned that title already. Yes, the black agrees, seeking comfort in their shared consciousness as well, the python's muted emotions helping to hold his own volatile, sometimes no less than uncontrollable ones steady. ‘Not nice?’ The snake questions, lifting his head from the stallion’s impala horns for the first time all day and flicking his tongue against the air, sifting through countless odors of grass, dirt, water, the old stallion and his various bodily functions, even the bits of seaweed and salt caught in the Lady’s mane, tasting, discarding the familiar until he finds something new, memorizing the scent of the antlered stallion for future reference.

The black doesn't answer this time, unsure himself. "Find Erebos." Is all he contributes, already regretting his decision to trek out here and eyeing the path back into the Basin with open despair. Leaving had been a downhill venture, but returning to it means having to go back up. He sighs, hocks aching from the mere idea, then turns away, deciding to go south instead. The Grove is better grazing anyway.


"Talk."
OOC // @Tiamat @Ezital

Bah bah black sheep
have you any soul?