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A whirling dervish of fluff approaches from the other side of the white stallion, a flurry of pink roan and purple striping that blurs together as the diminutive pony spins about in a complex dance that seems to involve an endless pursuit of his own candy colored tail. Motion stops abruptly, sulfurous stare locking upon the familiar steed. The other three have either escaped his notice, or have been deemed unimportant for the time being, for he ignores their presence completely. The call Myrrdin issues causes the tiny creature’s lips to peel back into an abnormally wide grin, a sure clue as to what the lurid one truly is, should one know the proper stories. “Would it matter if there were?” No greeting, no casual queries as to the health of the stag. Chester had never been one for conventional conversation, preferring to speak in a befuddling manner that few would be able to keep up with.
Cloudy eyes, and the vacant look Myr directs toward the small gathering farther down the beach clue the Cat to the elder’s new blindness, and a faint chuckle escapes him. “It would seem that you no longer see clearly as well, Elderstag.” It is a recall to their previous meeting, and he wonders if the wise lord will remember. Either way, he does not much care, though the wordplay had been engaging enough that he hopes some remnant of their encounter lingers in the complex brain.
A glance is spared to each of the other nearby horses, first focusing on the crimson-dipped mare and the silver dragon swooping around her. Not a proper dragon, he thinks, but more of a dragonfly. Such creatures had flitted through the Lotus Forest frequently, chasing the abundant horseflies, and so he is not startled by the metallic figure as some would be. Instead, he regards the pair with interest, observing the way they appear to fight, yet are both seemingly relaxed in each others presence. An odd relationship, one he is vaguely fascinated by and resolves to learn more about.
The second, the hornless painted boy, is far less captivating, though Chester wonders who painted him and whether the colt was white or brown to begin with. An absurd thought, but he had seen packs of cards coating snow roses with red, and so the idea that one might also take a brush to the coat of an equine is no less ridiculous.
Then, yellow pools snap to the last members, the draften stallion and the dog prancing about nearby. His uncanny smile fades a bit at the sight of the red and white figure, he has never much liked canine animals. The potential threat remains near the small group however, showing no interest in the once-cat and antlered ancient. Black steed moves with confidence, the calm assurance of a king, and this too piques the little one’s curiosity. Over whom did the beast rule, and did he often order beheadings?
Amusement shines behind the lanterns of his eyes, and he knows that soon he will approach the impromptu gathering. He refuses to leave the Elderstag behind though, and since he is unwilling to immerse himself in the water, he must simply wait for the old white to emerge from the ocean’s embrace. Rather inconvenient, but Chester has no desire to endure the wet. He was, after all, a former cat.
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