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The Wing-hunter-bandersnatch-girl plays the game fairly well, retorting with a clever answer. Still, the odd unicorn has a reply formulated within seconds, eyes glittering at the challenge. “Which way is yours, Wing-Hunter? Where is it you wish to go? If you know not what you seek, you will surely wind up travelling in circles.” He whirls in a small circle of his own, quick steps sending a flurry of white powder to obscure his tiny form for a moment before both settle into stillness once again. Crescent smiles bares itself again, an expression that may mean glee or malice. To the otherworldly animal, the feelings may be the same.
Still, he decides the mare will be much more interesting should he remain in her good graces, or at least avoid antagonizing her more than he deems necessary. Thin tail whips behind him in a feline manner, and in his mind he takes the raven apart, breaking her down into tiny sections that are analyzed closely, only to put all the pieces together again. Idly, he wonders what would happen if he truly did divide Psyche into little blocks. Would they all fit together in a pretty puzzle once he was done, or would she be subtly wrong forever after? An intriguing idea, one he may have to test later on one who did not amuse him so.
Dancing gait carries him again to the side of the black dove, continuing their stroll as if he had never broken away to dance through the deep snow. He is not suited for such a home, drifts almost concealing his diminutive body in certain places. Undaunted, he keeps pace, simply bounding along the way foxes sometimes will, lunging from place to place rather than plowing a path. At least the fluff of his pelt prevents the cold from taking its toll. Still, he finds winter to be rather enjoyable, behaving with foal-like exuberance, for like a young foal it is his first Frostfall and he is enthralled.
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a .f r o s t e d. heart is filled with cracks [open]
