Well, that did it. As Thranduil grinned upon the fire filly he saw her frame shaking, her eyes grow fierce. She’s gone so far as to slam his shoulder, causing him to twist a bit in a side step, but still her tension was built up. Then she slices herself short of a crying school girl. Golden lids narrow. Her etched face raises, eyes still betraying unchanged emotions and she spits disdain at him. Mongrel. Wouldn’t be the last time someone called him that, he was sure. Still delight danced in his soul as deeply as he hid it. Stepping back from her, he too raised his head, rolling his shoulders to stand full. One hark trained on the pair beside him, but his full attention was on the vixen. She wasn’t done yet. Her firey eyes closed to reveal a cocky attitude. Both harks slide back forward to take her in. What new attitude was this? She slithers out her own snakes hoping to constrict around him, and suffocate him as he did to her. A disgrace. Mighty. Crowfood. (Really lass, the full term is crowshit.) Menace. In the end, the golden son could still grin. She’d missed her mark. Snakes mere inch worms. Did she think he wanted to be up there with those diplomatic tarts? Did she think he wanted to be so civil as to never be able to breathe a word of honesty, or lie? Did she honestly think he thought he deserved a place among them? Superiority-the brute knew not the meaning of the word. Or really any word to do with authority for that matter. But then, the golden reminded himself, he had played a part. There was a game, and there was score. Refocus now young son on your task.
Enough. Harks spin. That was not from the glass horned lass. It came from another with ivory lips. Shifting around Thranduil faced the swan. The grin falling as he turned to less, criminal joy look. Shouldn’t she be supporting him though? Crash had already headed through the forest and away. One hark slid back and body gained a seriousness. What was happening here? He had exposed the one they despised. Why were they not smirking beside him. Earth eyes look in the princess as she stood rigid, and offended? Her body was standing taller, her eyes cutting him. She was done. Wanted nothing more to do with it. The swan wanted it over. No enjoyment of the scene was found for her. Now, there was a confusing bit. Her tones now returned to their breeze like nature, but more harsh, like a cold wind in autumn, warning of winter. Must return. One hark followed that bloody griffon as the creature lifted itself above him. Feathers still fluttered above him as she let a smile grace her. It was the same as before, but that could only mean...Return with us. Welcome. It was falsified. She wore a mask. Did someone teach these creatures to do it as babes? The golden had indeed much to learn, but not where one might think. A mask though. The swan princess was hiding something, but what still mystified the golden. What was clear though, was she had not enjoyed this exchange. The swan was racist…right? Mind buzzed away. The princess had been civil, polite and engaging. She had stopped the exchange, but not for his favor, but for the glass horned? For the glass horned. Not racist. Well shit. Just shit.
The Basin. Rattling his head, he juggled thoughts. To the golden brute it sounded like a school yard. Being in a herd meant rules, leaders, and responsibilities. Then again though, the youth loved breaking rules, infuriating leaders, and dropping responsibilities. Sounded like the perfect place to cause more trouble. Though, he drilled to himself, perhaps with a bit more caution. Besides, he had to find out what the little swan was masking. “It would be a pleasure, an honor.” Ha, the golden son had no honor. He let it run through with a silvery civility that mimicked hers. Not by mistake either. Moving forward he began to follow her to the tree line. This was going to be a fun road trip. Zippee-do-da. Just at the tree line he paused. The glass horned. Head turned back and his gaze settled upon her for a moment. Her femine curves, delicate features, fake crown, and feisty twisting spirit. Nares inhaled deep, and he stored her traces. Perhaps more could come from this meeting than the dull title of Thranduil, of the Aurora Basin. Oh god. He turned away from the lass to struggle the bile back down his throat. And he was going to have to make himself be alright with the addition. It would be some of his largest golden lies yet. This was not a random run in with a fellow traveler, this was for keeps. Those small masks would not do. Sides heaved then fell. Yes, the youth had a lot to learn.
"blah blah blah."
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