Instead of one, he is given two. The bicolored romani catches their scent before they come into view, intelligent eyes diverted in their direction. Winged they are, and so similar in appearance they might have been each other’s reflections. They are pale, pink of skin and blue of eye, sweat clinging to their hides. The gypsy is adjusted to heat, a mere dampness reflects on his nape, but he is certain that in daylight, this heat will be unbearable. They are but children; still their movements through the dry undergrowth are noisy, moving next to one another, hushed words now and then exchanged. Then they stop and not until then do they notice his presence.
He sees their difference immediately, for though they are similar on the outside, two different personalities shine out of their eyes. His own baby-blues are turned to the one speaking, and he watches her with interest, not revealing any thought or emotion on his patched face. She is kind on the eyes, but she is only a baby for all he is concerned, and this threshold isn’t his to guard. He nods at her speech, his body-language increasingly relaxed as he rests a back-hoof on its tip. Then the other steps closer as well, thrusting her body in before her sister, eyes unkind in their expression. The gypsy stays the same, piercing eyes now resting at the face of the second child, as she demands to be told where she is. Only he cannot tell her, for he does not know.
"People often say we are Pilgrims, just passing through
And if we think about it, this statement is probably true
We are here for a little while, but don't known for how long
We won't be coming back again, not after we are gone."
His words are sung in rhythmic prose, eyes gliding to the sky above to the twinkling stars, his guides in this foreign land, as if he hopes they will tell him something. "What belongs to you, yet others use it more than you do?" He speaks, attention drawn back to the yearlings in front of him. Mischief lingers on his face, and he does not speak any more. Instead he watches them, reading their faces for reactions, leaving his own as unreadable as the pale moon from whom he is named.
[OOC: I’m so sorry this sucks, please forgive me :(]
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