As he approached and the antlered mare let loose a shrill, reverberating call, Crowley found that he was unable to help but cringe. Such calls were not needed unless it was urgent, and after all, he had already spotted her and was heading her way... "Mares," he scoffed in his head as he pressed onward, the mare's pale figure growing more and more distinct with each step.
Once he had arrived and extended a welcome to her, Crowley listened with keen ears as she introduced herself as Zdravilo and tucked the name away into the depths of his mind. The Weaver knew well how important it was to remember names and the faces that went with them, for the Basin had already had its fair share of liars and traitors, such as the case with Valentine. The brindle nearly snorted in disgust at the thought of the crimson clad stallion, but he was quick to push them away lest he ruin this moment with the newest addition to the Basin.
At hearing the tobiano's rank, the slightest of smiles pulled at the Weaver's lips. If he remembered correctly, there were no longer any training beneath the Time Mender. He knew of the Nightshade's beloved nurse and the not so racist Lena, but other than that, there was nobody. Meeting the mare's strangely colored eyes with his own golden gaze, he quirked a brow in curiosity. "Have you met d'Artagnan yet? He is our Time Mender, your direct superior." Even though his wording might not have been the best, it was simply a fact.
Deciding to switch to a more simple topic, one that the paint might be more comfortable with, Crowley cocked a hind leg and prepared himself for what might be an earful. In front of him, Talbot had settled back down and made himself quite at home sitting between the brindle's front legs, looking up to the mare with youthful curiosity. Having grown used to the pup's favorite spot to sit, Crowley adjusted his eyes back upon the mare. "So, Vilo... Do you mind if I call you that?" There was a short pause, as if allowing her a moment to answer, before he continued on. "What's brought you here to the quaint land of Helovia? And if I may ask, why take an interest in the art of a Scourge?"
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HP: 45
