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Was it wrong to sulk? To want, dream, hope, crave, cry? In truth, Caleb only did about one of the things on that list, but it felt as if he would be able to do all of them if he allowed himself, lowered his cold wall to reveal his inner self. He couldn't, wouldn't, but there were things he needed to talk about to someone, anyone. He couldn't keep to himself a day longer. The beast needed a friend about now.

The darkly painted warrior wades into the pond, lukewarm water engulfing more of him with every step he takes towards deeper water. He feels the dirt and caked blood and sweat and more wash off of his body. Eventually, he is deep enough that water hesitantly pools across his back, the only thing above the surface was his chiseled head, muscled neck, withers, and croup, everything else well submerged.

He lets out a loud snort as he hears water splashing behind him. No doubt, it is Henrietta. She treads water, moving towards her master with a diligent speed. Once she reaches him, she playfully swims circles around him, her silver eyes glinting with pup-like mischief. Caleb, however, is in no mood for games. He slowly turns to the lake shore and moves towards it, limbs slicing through the water like a knife through butter. Once his is completely on dry land, his steel eyes shut and body drops to the dry dirt that lines the shore. He rolls in the dirt, re-caking himself with it. It was habit to roll after getting wet, second nature to the two year old. When his is standing again, his body shakes, excess dirt flying back to the ground. A satisfied grunt later, his eyes scan the area wondering who will bring him company today.

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It the incessant sound of hooves beating the Birdsong ground that wears that finite amount of patience thin. The constant thud of nearing hooves infuriating similar to the roar of silence, that drone-like buzzing that takes place in silence. And then it stops. He swats his feather tipped tail around, dirt gripping onto those ebony feathers, making them appear a dull black with splotches of woodland brown flecks. The violent lashing stirs a cloud of dust behind him. It takes the shape of fog behind him before being swept away by the warm breeze of spring.

It's the sound of stumbling, the way he can hear hooves scrambling across the pond, the unmistakable struggle of tripping. A sly smile would've creeped onto his lips, a cynical expression, but not today. He didn't feel like smiling nor laughing nor even hinting that he felt any sort of humor. Instead, the brooding beast turned to face the stranger, wholly expected some idiotic cretin. He isn't sure about her mind, but her appearance is rather... beautiful. His eyes fell on the line between white and chocolate. He was rather fond of darker-colored paints, and this mare was no exception. Though her appearance made this less unbearable, he still felt irritable, a sadness creeping within his veins like poison.

Stepping towards the bank, he looked over the picturesque water in her direction, he noted the drastic change in her expression as his eyes found her face. Buccephalus? It was clear she was disappointed to find that the black hybrid was not the one she sought. After a few seconds past, she mutters the word oh, most likely wondering how to recover from such a fault. Though he had not heard the simple words, the beast can read lips. "Sorry to dissappoint, deary!" He replies, deep Italian-lilted voice emanating from his throat like a loud rumble of thunder.

At his sides, grand wings unfold, casting huge shadows beneath them. He was glorious, in a sort of terrifying, cold, primal way. Then with a few elegant strokes of his dirt-dusted ebony wings, he is airborne, flying towards the mare over the mirror-lake that reflects his image almost perfectly. 

The beast lands in about knee-deep water, creating rather large splashes as he completes his water-landing. A few droplets spray his snout, causing his nostrils to quiver wildly, the cool drops tickling his sensitive maw. The stoic beast begins throwing his head, ridding his face from the water. An indifferent snort later, he is trudging out of the water, under belly and ivory legs re-soaked and clean. He contemplated rolling around once more, but decided not to in the presence of a lady, leaving his top have awfully dusty and his bottom as clean as a whistle.

He shoves his half-wet snout at her's, searching to bump noses. "I am Caleb, and that is Henrietta." He flicked his feathered tail in the direction of the hound who was diligently swimming towards Caleb and the stranger, truly loving the water, feeling the cool liquid mold around her stream-lined body as she swam. "Whom is Buccephalus?" The brute inquired, truly curious as to why she seemed so disappointed when it wasn't him.

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"Nasreen," he murmured back, memorizing the unique, feminine name. And though the tingle on his whiskered muzzle from her soft touch is captivating, it's her hesitance that truly steals the beast's attention. His eyes drop to her legs as she steps away from him. For once, the impressive man did not know how to act nor how to reply. With furrowed brows, his chrome-marked cranium drops to ground level. Caleb, though intelligent and daunting, is truly as dorky as everyone else. His lips find a small path of tall grass beside him, and though that particular path seems more ornamental than edible, his jaw still clamps around the long blades, ripping them from the ground easily. As she begins apologizing, his head is moved to it's original position, high and mighty.

Once she finishes speaking, claiming she is sorry then going on to explain that the character she mistook the brute for is no one of importance, and though that Bucephalus seems important, he doesn't press for more of an answer. Instead, he shoves his snout forward once again, stepping closer to fill the space Nasreen created by stepping backwards. He stretches his snout out as far as possible, offering the bundle of grass as a sort of offering. In a way, it's romantic. They stand in the Secret Grove, the romantic part of Helovia, a he is offering her a bouquet of wild grass. Most say the brute isn't romantic, but he likes to believe he is.

After a few seconds pass, if she hasn't taken his offering by now he'll drop it on the ground, otherwise he continues normally. "I believe I am the one that needs to be apologetic. I did not mean to frighten you in the least, my dear." He flashes her a smile, doing so as Henrietta takes a seat beside him, watching with bored pup curiosity. 

Continuing the conversation, the brute decides to ask a simple question. "What brings you here today?" He asks softly, attempting to be the complete opposite of scary, dark, and brooding. He aims to not scare her again.