For a split second, he thinks he might be able to touch the young fawn, his salt and pepper muzzle reaching out with ginger, tentative slowness, but as the newborn continues to blink sleep away from his questioning eyes the reality of his situation sets in and the overwhelming stimuli of three unknowns sends him leaping away and into the safety of the forest, presumably to find his mother and herd. The stallion sighs, sad to see him go, his sentiment echoed in the low wail of Rikyn’s companion.
That turns his head, one ear rotating toward the cerndyr, the other folding back, acknowledging the other stallion standing close behind him and his own uncertainty at having encountered him outside of official herd business. They stare at each other a moment, and then – to the black’s obvious surprise – it’s the gold marked stallion that speaks, not an obscenity or disparaging word in the whole exchange.
The elder’s expression puckers, instinctively suspicious, but the other offers only polite conversation, elaborating without prompting in a manner that tries to draw him in and leaves space for reply.
"I don’t know.” He answers slowly, glancing around the little meadow. Now that he thinks about it, the vines and bushes and patches
do seem to be laid out in a logical pattern, not the haphazard mixture of fruit and weed that nature would weave on her own.
"I’ve never been here before. I just thought it smelled nice.” Unlike you. He stifles himself, his rough and
always ready backsass grown accustomed to total freedom in these last three years.
Awkwardly, he shifts toward the berry bushes, plucking and chewing a mouthful of the purple bunches while he thinks. Mortuus Nox had told him once that Rikyn grew up in the Basin, that he was related to Deimos,
and that he was a prick. "How does it feel to be home?” He asks, eyes down and away from the other stallion, bitterness that has nothing to do with the berries invading his senses. How does it feel to have a home to go back to?
"Talk."
OOC //
@Rikyn
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