Footsteps continue pounding the earth with hard, dark hooves, tail lashed at his sides, as concerns twisted his ears haphazardly atop his crown. He was tired of the same worries pounding through his skull, he longed to be distracted, or better yet, to find a resolution to his concerns. But the stubbornness of his daughter was something his own genetics had contributed to, and he was glad that he had taught her the ways of defending herself, at least. He was less glad with the way she relished in the activity of sparring, exercising, and aspiring to rise through the same ranks he held. Was he a hypocrite for holding this title and warning his own blood away from it?

A shudder rolled through his shoulders, the tremors cascading through his muscles all along his flanks and rump, scattering the persistent insects that try to cling to his hide. The stallion barely saw the approach of the chocolate maiden, though his ears did instinctively swivel towards her, his eyes, stormy grey in hue now, rolling lazily to view her. A small, half smile was offered, but it held a sad, forced line to it, it didn't reach his eyes, his façade didn't soften with kind amusement or gentlemanly welcome like it normally would have. A familiar scent tugged at his nostrils then, as he listened to this first maiden's words, recognising her vaguely from discussions with his mate of an evening.

It was his mate whom he had scented before, and who managed to stretch his smile a bit wider, to soften the harsh, grumpy lines of his face. He slows his walk, and eventually stands, shuffling the large, black wings that hang from his shoulders. He returned her touch, gently, affectionately, trying to dissipate the bad mood that had gathered about him, trying to - but not entirely able to. Her question was one of concern, he could tell, but it only made him angry at himself, for he should be better at controlling the hurt he felt inside, the fear that he had wounded the relationship between himself and his daughter. He knew they would recover.. Didn't he?

"Just the usual, dear. Cirrus, being as headstrong as her grandmother, as usual." He replied with a sigh, before turning his attention back to the Scholar, dipping his crown to her, his smile becoming softer, more genuine. "Forgive me, Rowan. I am Azzuen, though I suspect you already knew that." A small wink was given, as the stallion retrieved some of his natural playful charm from the depths of despair and fatigue. A small shake of his head was given, and he chuckled a small, wispy sort of laugh; it was not deep and wholesome, but neither was it completely empty and void of true, lighter, happier emotions.

"Is it unfair of me to want her to be safe? To shield her from the frontline of war even though it is what she yearns for? What her blood has dictated she belong to for generations past?" The questions came tumbling out, and the stallion looked between each of the mares, searching them, seeking reassurance, answers, hope. A deep sigh rattled his ribs again, as he allowed the ruminations of the day to wash over him in another wave of fatigue and melancholy.

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