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07-31-2016, 08:05 AM
The stallion’s bearded head tilts, a quizzical arch softening his brows. The filly’s immediate admission of inferiority surprises him. Siblings aren’t usually so quick to admit that one is better than the other at anything, least of all while in the other’s presence and in front of company. She seems disappointed by the concession, but her response is adamant and the boy responds with a bold agreement. Brows furrowing again, he wonders how much of the filly’s personality is hidden behind the loudness of her brother’s. She’d been the first to approach him and her initial questions had been friendlier, more engaging. He would have tried to draw her out once, hinged the conversation on her responses to strengthen her confidence and temper her sibling's, but those fatherly days are over now. She'll just have to forge herself or else be lost in her brother's shadow.
“Would you prefer one lie over the other?” He asks the colt, turning away from the filly and all the memories she threatens to uncover. He’s enjoyed riling the boy up so far and he's genuinely interested in his next seething response, but the prospect of having to labor at catching some small, helpless thing for his young companion to eat is more compelling than the possible payoff of seeing his pompous little face twist and fluster and turn galloping home to his mother, so he relents. “You’re no son of mine.” He admits, a challenge in the dismissal. He wants to declare his progeny better, of higher mettle, say that they’d had thicker skin and defter tongues than the willful brat before him, but he stops short of forming the syllables aloud. His boys are nothing now and what might be left behind is little more than dust and broken bones, tufts of fur in wolf scat and cries that echo in his ears at night.
OOC // Sorry for the delay. @Kiada @Kianzo
“Would you prefer one lie over the other?” He asks the colt, turning away from the filly and all the memories she threatens to uncover. He’s enjoyed riling the boy up so far and he's genuinely interested in his next seething response, but the prospect of having to labor at catching some small, helpless thing for his young companion to eat is more compelling than the possible payoff of seeing his pompous little face twist and fluster and turn galloping home to his mother, so he relents. “You’re no son of mine.” He admits, a challenge in the dismissal. He wants to declare his progeny better, of higher mettle, say that they’d had thicker skin and defter tongues than the willful brat before him, but he stops short of forming the syllables aloud. His boys are nothing now and what might be left behind is little more than dust and broken bones, tufts of fur in wolf scat and cries that echo in his ears at night.
OOC // Sorry for the delay. @Kiada @Kianzo
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