Wilder</style>

There was certainly a defined irony to anyone who bothered to pay attention; though the mare was quite young, she stood nearly a hand taller than the ghost. Not that he cares. She's young and inexperienced- even if she'd gotten into a few squabbles with her herd mates over some shiny trinket, she has nothing on the thirteen years Wilder has spent battling. His features remain decidedly unimpressed, blankly eying her as she turns towards him in her full... glory (though he did use the term loosely...). Wasn't the right word at the moment his brain was too fried to come up with another more suitable (and less flattering) one.

She's smiling now, at him, like some sweet little innocent thing, but those black eyes don't miss the look in hers. He's not fooled for a second, wings settling against his body as he relaxed. No point in playing all his cards at one time though. "Yes. May I ask,where am I?" That sweet little tinkling faerie bell voice rings in his ears. If he had been raised by anyone other than Mandrake, his resolve might have broken, and fallen ensnared in her little trap.

But he was, so he's not.

Mere moments after she silences herself, and the white shadow goes to speak is he interrupted.
“Apologies, I overheard your words and mistook the sound. I do hope that my presence isn’t intruding. How fairs your night m’lady?”Tilting back in fractions, nearly in a comical way as the pinto speaks, Wilder's ears are pinning in a moment of ill-temper, as he debates biting the young fool for his lack of respect. Then decides against it. Ears come unglued, but do not completely separate from his skull. He doesn't bother hiding his displeasure. Not that the young buck is present- oh no. Just that he had the moxy to interrupt. The only points the young buck has earned is that his vocabulary isn't dreadful. Yet once more, he's not given the chance to speak again until the mare addresses the black and white Pegasus. Those ears started tilting back again. "It is alright thank you sir,and yours? Oops where are my manners? I am Satan."

"Here? Here is the Threshold. The entrance, if you will. It seems manners haven't only managed to escape you, dear lady." he fixates the stallion with a pointed look both from the interruption and complete lack of disregard in Wilder's very presence. He's half a mind to rip out those wings and present them to Mother as a present. "I am Wilder. Son of Mandrake."

Naturally she'd have no idea what that would mean, the implications, but his black eyes cast a sideways glance, trained, at the painted buck, waiting to see if he was more knowledgeable about the mare the white shadow spoke of.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.</style>