He can stop, like she pleads with him to do, or he can move on and ignore her plaint cries. And yet as he can her move about, he can only stand still as a voice slips through his mind with a candid tone. 'She calls for you, Shajake. Is this not something that has happened in the past, or are you making this up so you can look wanted?' The voice is followed by a laugh, and as fast as it came to him, it is gone. One green eye moves to look at the winged mare. Has she spoken her name yet? No, undoubtly not. A chuckle slips from his black lips before one leg is lefted and he moves it to his left to turn around. She pleaded with him, and seemed bothered by the fact that he was fixing to run off. Stray thoughts of the mare he once loved comes to him before they pass away. Compared to her, this mare was meaningless. He changes her agree with him and waves it off. Is her acceptance to his words that important to him that they are simply brushed off with a mental wave of a hand?
Each step through the rushing water seems so simple to him as he almost glides through it. The mare stands on the shore as if waiting for him to return to her, and as he does walk back to shore, not because he wants to, but because she had asked, and as he touches shore, the first actually feeling off how cold the water truly was comes across him. Rain is not an issue, it can only make you shiver and shake as it buries you in it's onslaught of hatred, though the water in the stream holds a different story. It is cold, holding no mercy as it throws another icy stab to his skin. This is not something you can simply ignore, and as each hoof is on completely ground, she happens to speak more. Words about the flower come to him, but what meaning do they have? It's just a flower, what meaning does it have to you? When you go home with it your whole herd will laugh at all of your stupidity. He can only wish to stay that to her, but already knows it would hurt her. Remembering what had been said earlier, his attention goes to find a place to stand where the storm won't bother them so much. There, in the distance, stands a lone tree that could be used as shelter till the storm was over. The idea of standing under a tree with this little thing here made his stomach churn, but the weather was annoying enough. Better to cut your loses and not die of some sickness gained when you stood about in the cold.
A little laugh, or could you say chuckle, breaks the silence. It turns all attention he has towards her and makes him wonder what has made her laugh. The white one has only to come to stand beside the mare, almost tempting the dappled stallion towards her. It disappears as he growls, letting it only be heard within his head. Growling outwards now could result in looking awfully strange towards this one. How'd she react, he is unsure of, and ultimately unwelcome towards.
Presented with a question, he groans at the idea of talking. Walking is fine, yes, but maybe a slow conversation can be fine. She then states to do most of the talking as he doesn't speak much. Hearing this is some type of welcoming feeling to him, and maybe taking refuge with her is as normal as it seems; he can accept her company for now it might not be as annoying as it seems. Well, as long as she doesn't turn into a complete chatterbox.
"There is a way to get out of the weather over there-" He gestured to the tree with his head, black forelock moving with his motion"and if you wish to keep the conversation favouring you speaking more, myself speaking less, I shall accept a small conversation with a walk." Somehow, the stallion is startled by the fact that he speaks this much at one point. Usually it was enough said to be pulled out as a conversation with anyone. His voice is still raw and demonic, anyone passing by would be startled by the sound of it. A pain within his throat reminds him he does not commonly speak so much, and as the disease tweets and moves a new gear within his brain, the black figure shows it's ugly self again, and speaks something to the stallion. Yet it almost comes inaudible, it is barely enough to be heard. 'Follow me, and quiet smelling the damn roses along the road.
It seems all to well for him to ignore the words from it, but this time the disease is harsh and the white one seems troubled before it lingers away in the thinnest mist that hangs over the grasses in the meadow. He recoils in disgust towards the black one and is careful to hide it from the winged mare. For once there is interaction other than speaking to the disease or some annoying stallion he had came across one that's only purpose seemed to be to scream at him when he didn't speak. Now now, how are you to know that someone isn't much for conversation when they say one word to you and then be quiet for the rest of the time. Idiots, what idiots. And what a waste of time.


"talk talk talk"

OOC: I have to say, Africa is so adorable! Like adorable that you want to take her home and just cuddle her. <3