East the serpent had slithered, his hunt taking him stalking across the meadow and into the grave-like trees that called themselves the Threshold. Equipped with his maroon scarf and his beloved Cākāna hoist around his neck, the serpentine gelding slunk beneath the canopy in the shadow of a doe.

Bullwhip now clasped readily between his incisors, Toulouse readied his jowls for what was sure to be quite the fight.
The vampire began by extending his neck and craning his head upwards before he allowed the whip to slash the air, knotting its way around the ankle of his unsuspecting prey. A throaty growl escaped his mouth, ricocheting from the very back of his lungs as he dragged the wriggling cervine along the ground, teeth barred and his chops hardly able to suppress their lust for her throat. His knee pinned her neck to the ground, the weight of his own belly holding her scampering legs to ground as he leant in for a death-blowing strike.

It was a jingle and a clink that startled the carnivore as he stood hunched over his meal, glassy eyes now crooning up into the forest. Someone else was near. Blue and black veins pulsated within his neck as he battled the wish and want within his mind, teeth leering forwards in desperation for the blood he so fervently needed.
It was a risk he could not take.
Suppressing not only his deep desire for blood, for a meal, for the taste of iron and plasma, but also for the relief that might come with a great roar of anger at his predicament the gelding snagged the bullwhip from the stunned deer's hock and rid his knees from pinning her in place.

The whistle of the leaves upon his knees as the doe made her rush to safety was easily ignored as Toulouse's glassy eyes now lay fixed between the trees. A dark brute stood watching, wandering, a tendril of mysterious coins adorning his mane.
So this was the one who had disturbed him. Toulouse didn't know whether to treat him as the nuisance he was, to leave him be, or to simply be a gentleman - there were just so many options.

Stepping fourth, the basilisk aimed his steps with precision among the earth; the kind that would allow him to make as little noise as was possible.
Taking his place behind a shielding spruce, the specter finally spoke.
"Your coins sing so loud an arrow could have got you in the dark..." It was spoken almost playfully - the gelding finally looked upon the stallions face and saw he was handsome... and older perhaps. His lucky day.
"You are not from these parts" he uttered to the man; a deduction Toulouse might say, though really it was more of a guess.


ooc; because i mean do you even thread without me
@reichenbach