Actually, their constant gnawing on each other was becoming bothersome. Not even the colt who looked as if he wanted to prod the cat's body apart with his eyes was enough to placate his rising annoyance; couldn't the kid and mare shut up for even two seconds? No. They had to keep going at each others throats like rabid beasts, snapping and acting like they were both three seconds old. A noise rumbled in the large space of his chest, like thunder starting in his lungs - but before it could reach a crescendo, the mare seemed to have gotten enough of colt and turned her back on them. Well, that didn't exactly make Belial any sadder. The giant cat made a sound that was reminiscent of a snort before muttering, "Good riddance,". He shook his head and wondered why he, too, didn't walk away. He'd come down only to find out if he really had reached the strange-place-where-horses-don't-act-like-prey, and if this encounter was any indication, he had reached it. So why did he linger? Why did he bother sticking around? Why?!

The small one, Varath, piped up again, about his wings. Cool? No! What the hell did he know about wings anyway? He didn't exactly have a pair hidden under his downy foal fur! "It's not cool," he snapped, teeth clicking together when he shut his mouth. Wings were the bane of his life, the bane of his existence; wings a pair of cloudy-headed parents had wished upon him. Belial's short tail snapped in annoyance, and once more he wondered why he tormented himself by remaining. Was it because any form of social interaction - even with prey - that didn't lead up to him getting mauled by a pack of smilidon pleased him? Or was it because he was just plain stupid? Fucking masochist.

And the older colt kept up his inspection. Even cats have tempers. Or, well, perhaps one should say, cats have tempers. While it was a welcome change from having claws in his hocks, it wasn't exactly pleasant to be scrutinized so by a stranger who did fancy tricks and made you an ugly twin. Truth to be told, the illusion wasn't all that bad, but wings... At times, they had their uses. Like now. The one nearest to the curious colt relaxed ever so slightly before he slammed it out, aiming to knock the wing bone against his many-horned forehead. He'd come close enough, seen enough, but in the short moment when the wing wasn't clutched awkwardly against his side, it was obvious that, when unfurled, they'd be large enough to hold his weight in the air. Belial didn't enjoy trying it, though, and the muscles were sorely underdeveloped, but he didn't exactly know about that. Grumbling under his breath he reined in the wing again, folding it and holding it tight to his muscular chest again. Hollow bones? What the?

"I haven't exactly checked," he told the older of the pair in an annoyed tone, sidling away from his peering eyes. "And I'm not going to let you check, either. So don't even think it." He'd bury his canines in his fleshy neck before he let that happen. Belial might not like his wings, but he be damned if he was going to let someone rip them off. A pack animal living as a loner was always wary of pain and injury, and he preferred sticking to pulled muscles.

OOC // Sorry for the wait...