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06-09-2017, 03:55 PM
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R I K Y N & D U I R
"My father made them, the last having been finished about three years ago now," I answer of her question, my voice unusually cold for a familial topic, disguising the mourning that I have not allowed myself to undergo, and will not allow a stranger to see, and most definitely not Wessex, either. As I stop before the Mutant, and what appears to be yet another wanderer she has brought in, I try to instead focus on the fact that I’m glad that someone has a knack for it. I myself have come away with nothing to show for it too many times from that wood. I let my gaze sweep across the stranger in my usual appraisal, and have seemed to done it often enough now that I even have a checklist of sorts I mentally run through as my eyes move from hoof to horn tip. I deduce that this one might be as physically strong as Wessex, though its hard to tell if she’s as willful, and I am glad, also, that she’s a unicorn, unlike many others as of late. "I like to think he’d enjoy that they still impress people, even though they’re broken." I look at her with the warmest smile I can manage, still cautiously tiptoeing around the issue of my swept under the rug emotions. Moving on from the subject of the emotion-rousing Sentinels, I instead turn to introductions, and other things of importance. Herd history, particularly history that makes a knife twist in my heart, can be discussed later, when I’m clear across the valley. "Anyway, welcome," I nod, "I’m Lord Rikyn." Arriving alongside me in perfect time is Duir; bobbing his ivy laden, antlered head in greeting, with a powerful gust of air from his nostrils (he’d run here, and is winded), he also looks towards Wessex with a happy deer smile and a deep, friendly nod of hello. Clearly, the unusual tension between Wessex and myself is not of any bother to him. "And this slow-poke is Duir," I smirk, knowing he’s suddenly wearing a scowl without even looking. [ OOC: -waves hello- ] this is not destruction this is your birth — |
