A dark laugh resonated through the air, a sharp, cackling noise that emitted from the Weaver as he approached the assembled group. It had been easy to pick them out among the other small groups of Basineers, for bickering was actually not quite as common as some might think. The words of distaste that spewed from the lips of the brindle's herdmates summoned a bemused grin to cross his face, but as he drew closer and gained a better view of the winged trespasser, it pulled back into something of disgust.
"You honestly think that a puny colt could take anybody on? I doubt you could hold your own against a single one of us, chap." His words were spoken with a silver tongue, malice lacing each syllable as he glared with intense golden eyes at the alabaster youth. Honestly, he was not the first one stupid enough to come wandering into the Basin, acting as though it was his right to march into their home without punishment. There had been that painted scoundrel whom had only been saved under Ophelia's grace, and then there had been Azzaron, a recent prisoner to the Basin. Crowley loathed the fiery stallion with every fiber of his being, and if not for his thinning time constraints, he would gladly take the imbecile into his own care.
With a quick glance to his horned sistren, he took a moment to observe the body language they displayed. The pale, antlered mare seemed to handle herself in a calm manner, but it was obvious that she was not a fan of hornless. He had seen her before within the Basin, not even knowing of her name. His eyes then glanced over the largest of the mares, instantly admiring the way she looked upon the colt with rancor, and in a flash, struck out at their guest. He seems to simply brush it off, however, acting as though he were witnessing some sort of comedy act.
Ears brushing back against his skull, Crowley stepped forward, his movement anything but hesitant. "Get the hell out of our home, you goddamn, insolent pest," he says, throwing his head in way of gesture at the colt's wings, "Before I rip those things from your very withers and leave you to the wolves."
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HP: 45
