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The only response given to the taunting voice that sounds is an irritated flick of his ear. Totem is no stranger to mockery, and the combination of apathy and familiarity cause the words to simply fade from his mind seconds after hearing them. This newcomer does not interest him, and will not be useful, and so means nothing. Later, he will forget that the paint was ever in the cave with them, his memory erasing the obnoxious creature, obliterating him from existence just as the butterfly is. This display also goes without reaction, the bay choosing to watch passively while the other stallion postures and threatens, as silly as a young colt. For Totem is like the stars, a cold observer that one can see, but never understand. Every now and then anger will flare, as destructive as a meteor crash, hot and bright and merciless, but such acts are few and far between.
The filly is speaking anyway, and that is something worthy of his fleeting attention. She could be of use, and so he will tolerate her for a while, granting her moments of care. "I'll not be askin' much o' thar, lassie. Be runnin' me errands, helpin' me out, and I'll be makin' certain thar don't git beat on overmuch. Be likin' what thar 'ears?" He wouldn't oppose Psyche, of course, should she wish to vent her frustrations on the girl, but she'd be safe enough from riffraff like the paint who lingers annoyingly.
Even more annoying is the appaloosa mare who comes bursting in, rushing past the two stallions to stand with the flicka. She wouldn't be worth anything at all to Totem, had she not chosen to stand between him and his prize. Infernal eyes latch on to her blue form, burning like the fire they resemble. No words are spoken, she doesn't merit such a thing, simply a dispassionate look that says she is nothing, lesser than an insect. He could destroy her, and never even remember exactly what he had done. Leonine tail swishes languidly, dangerously, the same way a big cat's might while it hunts.
Yet, it seems that he is destined to be continually interrupted, clopping hooves and another male voice curling into his ears like smoke. This one is also accented, though different than his own, and pools free the mare to flicker over this newest intruder, taking in his odd appearance in the same manner he takes in everything else, distant and cold, acknowledging the beast for convenience only. His words insinuate that he is the current owner of the pegasus, though a rather indifferent one, offering her to the whims of those assembled.
"'Avin' 'er useful'd be better 'an 'avin' 'er broken," he states, directing his opinion to the brindled buck. "I could be takin' 'er off thars hooves, if it suits. Surely there be better things fer thar tah do than bairnsittin'."
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A little lass trapped in hell again[Open]
