You're busy dying if you're living in the past

In the moment that Talbot had rounded the peak of the hill, mouth agape and tongue lolling out from the side of his mouth, the hound was blissfully unaware of the violet hued mare for but a second before he slammed on the brakes and came to a halt. Behind him, his pointed tail stuck straight out and his body grew rigid, ears curved towards the stranger that he nor his master had been expecting to find. A low wuff left his throat then, and then a gentle growl, but he remained where he stood until the Weaver could catch back up with him.

Having heard Talbot's warning, Crowley followed the hound's gaze until his own eyes lay upon their unexpected company. An annoyed scowl creased his lips then, for he had left the Basin not only to seek out more plentiful sustenance, but for time alone, away from the herd. This curse had been nothing but bothersome to the brindle, hindering him in ways he would have never thought possible. If Crowley was honest, most were embarrassing things; he'd been riddled with gruesome boils, made terrified at every little movement he saw(and some he didn't), and had even been so stupid as to eat snow in the midst of a great battle. If he remembered correctly, he'd even believed a Pegasus to be an alien...

The two things were close enough.

Speaking of the horrendous creatures, upon further inspection, it was plain to see that this mare was a part of that same winged family. Ears lacing back, Crowley continued on and advanced towards the violet one, unbeknownst to the sorrow that plagued her so. It had been some time since the Weaver had initiated any act of Plague violence, and what better time than now to amend that? As far as he could tell, they were all alone up here, and nobody would hear her screams of agony as he ravaged her. Talbot seemed to latch onto the silent thoughts of his master, and as the stallion moved ever closer towards the stranger, he followed right at his side.

However, as he drew closer and closer to the other being, her outline become more clear with every step, Crowley's anger slowly began to dissipate. It was perhaps the strangest feeling that he had ever felt, and when the nameless mare took a timid step in his direction and spoke, Crowley came to a halt. He had heard her words, but they more or less went through one ear and out the other as his eyes skimmed across her. Her body held a dark, silvery tone sprinkled with a deep purple, and with the help of the moonlight, he could see that her eyes nearly matched his own. Something within his chest twisted, and although the Weaver tried his best to fend it off, he could not.

"... You have a good point," he said at last, snapping his gaze back to that of the mare's before he could be accused of staring. This wasn't the best answer he could have given, but it was all that he could think to say given this unexplainable distraction. Exhaling through his nose to try and calm his suddenly white-hot nerves, the stallion cast his eyes briefly skyward. She did speak the truth concerning the time, for he'd lost complete track of it many weeks ago. Was it morning? Midnight? He had not the slightest idea, and until the sun got its lazy ass back in the sky, he supposed it didn't matter.

Dropping his gaze and letting it fall back onto the mare, Crowley was yet again shocked to find that the intense hatred that was supposed to be there was not. What was the meaning of this? As awkward as this all was, Crowley took note of the way she looked away, sighing, and then looking back to him. Lifting a brow at her reaction, Crowley spoke up again. "Does the night trouble you, miss?"

[ @[Irrydae] ]