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04-09-2016, 10:43 AM
A sound is drifting on the frigid air, not the usual harshness of confrontation so often heard within the Basin’s walls, but a softer, happier noise. Black ears flick forward in interest, noting the high, melodic tone – a mare? And one he hasn’t met yet, if her speaking voice is anything like her singing voice. The old stallion knows Tangere, Rexanna, and even Tiamat well enough to recognize their vocals, so he rules them out immediately as the responsible party. He just can’t picture any of the Amazonian warriors of the herd with a soprano pitch (and doubts that the poison tongued General would even speak to a lover with anything but brusque dismissal), so perhaps the caroler is one of the healers or rapidly multiplying youths. Someone new, at least to him.
It’s not surprising that there are names and faces he has yet to meet in residence, despite his time with the herd. Their guarded entrance and secluded caverns, not to mention the reputation, make it more surprising that the valley would house someone cheerful enough to do a thing like sing at all, let alone loud enough for others to hear. But then again, there are a few who brave the Basin’s sourness despite themselves: the candy-coated Weaver for one.
Dwelling absently, he lets his ears lead him along, the slish and slush of his hooves along the dirty, trodden snow adding a quiet backing track to the mares sweet song that silences suddenly as he comes to the threshold of a small cavern, the music billowing out from within. He may be old and crass, but he’s not stupid enough to place a hoof in someone else’s home when those someones tend to be just as bad tempered and far more physically able than he. For now he'll wait, at least until she falls out of tune.
OOC // Hey der.
It’s not surprising that there are names and faces he has yet to meet in residence, despite his time with the herd. Their guarded entrance and secluded caverns, not to mention the reputation, make it more surprising that the valley would house someone cheerful enough to do a thing like sing at all, let alone loud enough for others to hear. But then again, there are a few who brave the Basin’s sourness despite themselves: the candy-coated Weaver for one.
Dwelling absently, he lets his ears lead him along, the slish and slush of his hooves along the dirty, trodden snow adding a quiet backing track to the mares sweet song that silences suddenly as he comes to the threshold of a small cavern, the music billowing out from within. He may be old and crass, but he’s not stupid enough to place a hoof in someone else’s home when those someones tend to be just as bad tempered and far more physically able than he. For now he'll wait, at least until she falls out of tune.
OOC // Hey der.
@Fiachra
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