| Up For Adoption |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 17.3 :: 7 |
| Adoptable |
argetlam</style>
Argetlam had watched and listened from afar, in mild interest, and it was not until Jackal fell silent did he move forward, feeling he should, maybe, be of some assistance to his leader. From what he heard, the two stallions seemed to be little more than a collection of two or three brain cells. Stepping off a ledge into a rotten log? How was one that oblivious to their surroundings?
While he knew little of the Helovian geography, Argetlam did know there were four herds, and from their similar scents, they are probably from the same place. Hadn't Jackal said as such? Aurora Basin. It sounded like a mystical place... ungrounded, floating, a place of mystery and magic. Quite unlike the solid, flat name of Windtossed Foothills; a good, hardy name the Foothills was. It represented their logic and earthy beliefs, didn't it? At least, Argetlam thought privately so, but he had never shared his opinion with someone else. Yet he found his feet on track to the Basiners, and so the draft halted beside his Chief, and smiled slightly, a little hesitantly, at the two seemingly slower creatures.
"I'm sure it would be fine to do so, as long as we don't have any trouble from the likes of you." To be honest, Argetlam thought it would be difficult to make trouble with the size of their apparent brains- but he was not one to judge without many weeks and days of meetings, and so he tossed his rude thoughts away, and turned. "I can escort you to the healer now." Escort was a bit of a hard word to put to it. Argetlam was not hard or tough. He was shy and soft-spoken and peaceful. He would not raise a hoof to harm anyone, not anyone at all, no matter the consequences. War, not even a bit of playful sparring, was in him. But that was drifting away from the point; the crafter did not escort, he would simply guide. He was not a guard, but a helper.
|
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
