Feeling the touch of another seemed such a different feeling to him, as nothing ever cared to attempt to touch the stallion. No one had yet to gain the nerves yet, and as he felt her touch his shoulder, it halted him. It was the fact that she had touched him openly that startled him, there wasn't much to touch with him. His green eyes turned to look at the mare, seeing her so close to him. "Don't touch. The feeling is unwelcome here." The manner of his words were cruel and heartless, and as the white figure came to stand beside him, he could see laughter in it's shape. He snorted, shook his head, and walked towards the tree. It wouldn't take long to get there, maybe about five minutes if the weather had yet to turn the entire ground to mud. Chances were higher that it had, and the thought of moving through mud seemed easier than moving through the water.
Hearing her yell in happiness -is that what you call it?-, he chuckles. She can be cute sometimes, he'll let the idea of her innocence being somewhat welcome slowly knock through his brick wall of disease. A question for his name is presented to him, and he reminds himself just to tell her it simply so that he won't have to explain much more here. "Shajake." His name is fairly simple enough as she might remember it easier than you could others. And as if to ask for her own name, he turns his head to look at her and gives a questioning look to her to see if she would present her own. He lacks the patience to sit back and chatter, and takes a stride towards the tree. The first step is welcomed by mud and wet grass that scatchs at his black stocked legs. He ignores, and only listens for more words and the sound of the winged mare's hoofbeats behind him. Hopefully she'd catch up with him.
The disease seems annoyied enough with the fact that he is making friends with this little thing, and as he takes his time to move towards shelter, the white one appears next to him. 'Oh, so you think she is something worth time? There is nothing more to her than just a pair of wings, an happy personality, and something there isn't to define.' He ignores as the black figure screams ever more at him, complaining of him smelling the roses non-stop and that there is better things to do ahead. Each voice is given different reactions throughout his head. Silently, he wished the little mare knew that he wasn't like the others, and that simply at any given moment he could around to attack her. It wouldn't bother him much, nah, she isn't that important. Would her herd even notice her absence if something was to happen to her? A doubt ran through his head at the idea. No one ever truly cares for each other unless you have a motive.
With this one here, he lacks a motive to keep her around. Unless he wished to kill her like the disease pleaded with him to do. It questions him, asking why he listened to a mare he barely knew and not something he was stuck with for the rest of his life. It reminds him of how it came across him as a colt, back then being only a handsome black colt with a strange blaze that tore black off his face to be replaced with white and slipped down and around his right nostril. And yet then he seemed more favourable because he would laugh with normality and speak without a voice that seemed ripped straight from some demon he must of found lying about. He turns his sight towards her and wonders if she is still there, and how she puts up with the strangeness of him. Yet, he is to forget the world works it's puppets in a strange way here, and somehow the main goal is to make the puppets seem more life-like than they truly are.

"talk talk talk"