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Rarely does the black-shouldered stag venture from the sanctuary of the snow-shrouded valley of unicorns, choosing to remain a wraith haunting the caves of the Basin rather than traverse the plain of ice to rejoin the world. Yet today he has been driven from the sheltered vale, pestered and punished by the sharp nips and irritated snarls bestowed upon his shaded legs by the growing pup he keeps, the companion he had never expected to find. The tiny hound is proving to be quite the menace, filled with the energy of weeks spent idly. There had been the occasion foray from their isolated cave, of course, but these short adventures ceased to placate the whelp, boredom forcing him to aggression against his bonded until the stallion either gave in to the unspoken demands or risked potentially serious injury.
Of course, seeing that there was more to the world than tundra has only made Laise even more determined to explore everything the land has to offer, amazing and astounding the pup in a way that leaves him wanting more, craving the next discovery. It is such a contrast to the mindset of his bonded, the cold mind of Totem finding nothing to hold his interest, distant and distracted from anything that the pup may try to show him. For while Laise may be enchanted by every new experience, every previously unknown item, there is little that can keep the fleeting attention of the stag. Not the thick green grass, nor the vast forests of trees, the birds and beasts that bustle about, disturbed by the passing of the exuberant hound.
Even the ocean fails attract more than a quick glance, the briefest acknowledgement of its existence, before fading to the background of Totem's awareness. The things that do not interest him may as well not even exist, crossing his thoughts for only a second before being discarded, labelled useless and tossed aside. But the young canine is captivated, awed by the vast expanse of surging water. It roils and shifts, crashing upon the shore and pulling back again and again, sending up vast spumes of seaspray that fall gently upon his small body. Intrigued and enthralled, he creeps forward, longing to touch the waves, if only for a moment. Just long enough to know the feel of one. Cautiously, his snout inches closer, closer, until the incoming rush slaps against his muzzle, flooding his nose with the sting of salt, and filling his mind with the instinctive fear of drowning. A high-pitched yelp declares his distress, and the whelp turns tail and flees, seeking safety at the hooves of the bay. For just a moment, amusement dances in the fiery eyes of the normally indifferent brute, flickers through the link between the two minds, before disappearing as if it has never existed.
Yet, this breath of emotion rejuvenates Laise, gives him reason to bound away again, desperately hoping to invoke more feelings in the stonehearted stallion. He snuffles at the sand, searching for any scent that may please Totem, and stumbles on the path of the mare. He doesn't know who she is, or if Totem will wish to encounter another, but he still barks in excitement, darting back to deliver gentle bites to the hocks of his bonded, sending him to meet this stranger. After all, in the Basin such behavior had earned quick flashes of approval, and why should this time be different?
And so they advance until the others come into view, at which time the bay no longer requires such harsh prompting, the vaguest sense of something(curiosity perhaps?) leading him on, spurring him to stride just the tiniest bit faster, ears to ever so slightly prick toward the duo. Recognition comes soon after, eyes taking in the striped body and twisting horns of the buck and knowing them to mean Crowley. The mare is unknown, golden and gorgeous, and utterly unintriguing. In fact, neither mean much to the silver bay, though Crowley may still prove himself to be worthy of attention.
These vague drifting communications from their link, mixed with his own familiarity with the brindle, prompt Laise to race forward, slipping occasionally forward in time in his haste. The lapses are barely noticeable, sending him only a few pawsteps ahead of where he should be, but still there, a tantalizing glimpse into what the pup will be able to accomplish later in life. Totem saunters calmly behind, watching his companion with slightly narrowed eyes as the canine, spotting Talbot, pauses just out of reach of the waves and emits a wavering howl, desiring to play but unwilling to enter the water. Hopefully, such skittishness will fade with age.
He finally reaches the other horses, halting his steps near his horned acquaintance. "Crowley." A short greeting, but Totem has never been one to waste words. He has granted the brute with more than most ever earn, accepting his existence, and even allowing an edge of respect into his voice. The femme he ignores completely, having no reason to acknowledge her presence. She may be here, but in the same way the sand was, or the few skinny trees. As something inanimate and common.
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