Perhaps some men would feel like a piece of meat before her gaze, but not him. He revels in it, revels in what could come if he meets with her...approval. Excitement thrums through him, thinking of Mirabella, thinking of the pleasure she gave him, contemplating how this particular mare would feel below him...She meets his gaze, and he tears his away from her delectable body with considerable reluctance. Whilst conversation is not the first thing on his mind at the moment, it was him who asked the question. Lecherous glances can wait, and he forces himself to listen to her voice and not try to tune into the thrum of her heartbeat.

He can't help the rough growl that leaves his throat at her sheer proximity, at the level of woman standing by him. He wants to touch, caress, bite, but resists. He has to focus on what she's saying. She speaks of an empire, an equine empire, and her offer to join it. His first thought is father would want me to. His second thought is why? Unlike his esteemed - and, some would say, closed-minded - sire, the black behemoth holds no ill-will towards the other species. He thinks of Isopia, born of every species in Helovia, and how if he was racist like his father, he would never have befriended her.

That's not to say her offer doesn't appeal to him. Working alongside her, all the treats that would undoubtedly come from that...living in a band, recruiting, growing, taking over a herd, ruling. Dominating. All things the young warlord craves, and to gain them with this bullet-mare by his side would be a dream come true. She turns, displaying the rump that he's so eager to press his chest into, before turning back towards him. She's even closer now, close enough to touch, and it's damn near impossible for his thought processes to continue when all the blood is vacating his brain for somewhere south of his head. She reaches up to his ear and he lowers his massive skull so he can feel her breath brushing against the tender hairs, eliciting another guttural snarl of desire from his clenched jaws. "You make it dreadfully hard to concentrate, you know," he rumbles, but nothing in his words suggests that he wants her to stop. Quite the contrary.

But she needs an answer, and he needs to think. He runs his nostrils down, aiming to drag his muzzle along her neck to her powerful shoulder, drinking in every caress of moist flesh before he tears himself away, forcing himself to take a step backwards so he can think. "Your offer is appealing," he says, and so it is. She offers power, strength, the fledgling bones of an empire. "But for now, I am afraid I must decline. I need to focus on growing my strength, sparring, not to mention surviving as an outcast, so that one day when I do rule an empire - be it yours or my own - I am prepared. Now is not the right time for me to join such an empire." It pains him, declining it, but he knows it is the right thing to do. Now is not the best time for him. He will rule one day, whether an outcast band or an actual herd, but he is too young at the moment. If not physically - for he has the musculature of a stallion in his prime, not a youngster barely entering manhood - then mentally, because he still needs to develop his mind and learn to control his temper and his urges alike. Around this gunmetal mare, that would be almost impossible.

He steps closer again now, slightly more tentative than before - in case her hooves should come for his face in retaliation for his refusal - but still exuding masculinity, virility, hunger. They may not be able to fight alongside one another, but perhaps they can still be of use to each other, by indulging desires that cannot be sated alone.