Good morning? Slaiter's brow furrows and he shifts his weight back and forth, swaying slightly in confusion. The only person to ever wish him a good morning had been his dam, and he'd always assumed it was something that only mothers did. But this little stranger seems to be male, and even he knows that stallions cannot be mothers. Though, he never knew what it was like to have a father... Do they also bid their children good morning? But, he is not this man's son, for his father is a zombie, a roving corpse, and his fellow is most certainly alive. Does he have a son who looks similar, and mistake the ghoul for family? That doesn't make sense, because the next words to come from the odd creature are those of introduction, and surely he wouldn't introduce himself to his own son. He also shouldn't have to ask who his son is. So, clearly this is not a case of mistaken identity.
Rather confused by the proceedings, his tail slows, going from wildly lashing to merely flicking at the tip. His hooves are also uncharacteristically still, for he is too busy being befuddled to be nervous. Still, his dam had also stressed the importance of good manners, and so he answers the halfling's question. "Slaiter." Perhaps he should say something about his father, too? This Wilibald had mentioned his, after all. "Son of..." He realizes then that he never learned the name of his sire. He had never asked, too occupied with stories of monsters. Well, maybe he should just say what the man was. "Son of a zombie." Was that enough? He's never been good at such things, raised alone and forced to remain far from living horses for most of his life. Ghouls aren't supposed to like people, after all, but skulk in graveyards.
Now that he thinks about it, he really doesn't make a good ghoul.
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
