He felt closed in.
Not by the canyon walls, not by the surreal happenings that took place moments before, not by anything surrounding him. When his senses gathered and he stood, there was a distinct absence of knowing. The red seething eye atop his forehead had sensed the danger, its lids closing for the first time in years. And with it, the sixth sense the Triennial Eye inherently brought closed in upon itself, and left Tor feeling distinctly disorientated.
Weathered, cracked hooves stepped forward, bringing him to peer curiously over the edge of an expanse that he stood over. Eyes wandered across the vast valley, peppered with dreary patches of dry grass and the occasional pop of oddly-placed color. Far, far in the distance, he could see the silhouette of rolling dunes cascading across the horizon. Black-tinted ears twitched annoyingly forwards, and a heaving sigh blew from his nostrils with abruptness. His whip of a tail swung, cutting through the air like a whip, as he regarded this pallid landscape with hesitant contempt.
One thing he was certain, at least this was not Roskildar. Which meant that putrid sack of skin and poor excuse for a mage was probably not here... not yet, at least.
As Torstein was so lost in his thoughts, he was left briefly unaware of the small mare peering at him from behind rocks and walls. He had come to rely so much on his Triennial Eye and the knowledge it brought, that for a moment he was left helplessly unaware. But it did not last long, because he could have swore he just heard something while contemplating in silence..
One ear lilted backwards, and Torstein stilled. The raspy, heat-stricken rattle of a deep inhale caught his attention, and he peered backwards over his shoulder towards the small(er) mare. Do people around these parts regularly stalk after large, intimidating stallions? But then again, he did have a peculiar entrance...
And she spoke. Her concern was positively touching, but she did not appear to be good at hiding the suspicion that leaked between her words - or maybe she wasn't trying to. Either way, he would be more concerned if she wasn't suspicious of such a massive Beast, afterall..
"My shoulder is rubbed raw. I'm sure I'll survive." His voice was not particularly as deep as one might expect. There was a tang of an accent - distinctly Norwegian - that existed within his speech, although otherwise he spoke largely without inflection.
He regarded her for a few seconds longer, his eyes unamused but not quite upset, either. She wasn't small by standard (standing next to him, everyone is small regardless), and she was pretty but not excessive. The collar, snug around her throat, caught his attention - and his eyes were distinctly drawn to it. It was old metal, but not weathered; it must have been there for some time. Was this a land of slaves? Or some sort of weird fashion accessory?
She was strong, but not intimidating to the likes of him (few were, honestly). He could tell she wasn't keen on him; hell, she was probably second guessing striking up a random conversation right about now. But while Torstein was unforgiving in many aspects, he was not violent without warrant. But at the same time, he had no personal space, either...
Turning with a lumbering gate that his time-worn hooves had no intentions of hurrying up in, he faced her for the first time since she magically appeared from behind a wall (well... he appeared out from one, so who's at fault here?). The teeth that surrounded his heart were still clamped firmly shut, although concerning-looking none-the-less. To make matters worse, it happened to be around this time that the Triennial Eye decided to bless the world with it's crimson gaze. It moved independently from Torstein's own eyes - and in an erratic, fast-paced fashion - but still made eye contact with Seraphina.
His feet never stopped, and the beast continued to step forward. Nothing about him was overly aggressive, per say - but like we said, he has no sense of personal space. Should the smaller mare not back off, he would stand directly in front of her, a foot or so separating the two... His head held high, nostrils flared as he took in the scent of the Canyon and this smaller mare that inhabited it.
"Mind telling me where I am?" He rumbled. Again, his eyes were drawn to her collar; they lingered.
Action. Thoughts. "Speech."
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I have three eyes
TWO TO LOOK ONE TO SEE
