Ausar

It was tempting to respond to the quirk of her lips, but in the interest of remaining innocuous he refrained. As she scanned him, he was disappointed for the first time that his hide was so dark. In battle it served him well, because his opponents could not see the outline of his musculature and assumed him weak. Here, however, he wished he could shed just a little bit of light on his physique. The midnight that clung to him now verged on sensory deprivation, so dark was he. Except, of course, for the dusting of mahogany over his face - as if that part of him needed to draw any more attention. His eyes were bad enough.

They did provide one advantage, however: when he rolled them, as he did at the mare's cryptic response, no one could tell. Whatever, she served one very specific purpose, and after that he didn't need her. He just needed a herd. He needed to fight in these lands and know what he was really up against, and then he wouldn't need anyone. Not this mare who gave off an air of badassery (but he suspected was perhaps less so), not the herd he would hopefully soon be invited into.... no one. He'd gotten along by his own brass for as long as he could remember. If he found himself becoming attached to a particular individual, he killed them so he wouldn't be weighed down. It stirred an odd emotion in the stallion, but he chose to think of it as a purging of what weakness remained inside him.

The reverence with which she spoke of their leader was at odds with title he had, but if words were taken at face value then perhaps this "Reaper" was someone worth meeting. The topic of his delicacy, on the other hand, had him snorting in agreement. And then she moved, and his warrior's instinct had him shifting his weight ever so slightly. He could have stood straight and not altered a muscle, but bravado almost always failed in the face of onslaught. Preparedness was the better option, in his eyes. The question had his lids narrowing around yellow orbs, and internally he immediately ground, "So much more than your small brain could possibly fathom." To the outside observer, however, he remained stoic. "That depends entirely on your definition of 'worth'," he countered, finally allowed a smirk to curve one corner of his mouth.

Then, rather than remaining stationary as he awaited her appraisal, the demon started his own. Side-stepping so he could work his way around her, unforgiving eyes surveyed the woman from all angles. There was something... off about her, but he couldn't figure out what exactly that something was. When he was at the level of her shoulder, just before repositioning himself at her front, Ausar asked, "What about you? Your scars tell of many a battle, but which side did you end on?" Victim or victor? That was all that mattered to the beast. That was his decider of worth.