ours is the fury
Noticing the Wolf find her prey and surprise the one who'd spoken out against her makes the beginnings of a smile twitch at one side of his lips. It's gone in the next second, and while he cannot quite hear what she says to him, seeing the stallion reel and disappear finally in the throw of bodies around them is enough to gauge a fairly solid understanding.
A rough breath is cast from his nose as his eyes once more move to study the arena - only this time they get caught on the same pale mare that is now pushing through bodies straight for him. He watches her, patient and impartial, as she approaches him and speaks above the surrounding voices.
"You just grounded a stallion more than half your size. I know you can," he starts, overlooking her now that she's a bit closer; her scars, the ferocious blue of her eyes - they remind him of a thunderstorm - and the confidence she exudes. Yes, this was most definitely a winner here. But he can't help but wonder what stories all of those scars tell; and then there's curious ones, the ones with predatorial bitemarks... "The man was just an unpleasant headache. And I'm not one for listenin' to ignorant, sore words." He knew she could have handled it, and in the end she did have her say. If he was honest, he'd actually had been sorely disappointed if she hadn't followed up his words with some of her own. Not that it was something he'd have held onto. The grasp he has on this area and these surrounding souls was loose at best and straight avoidance at worst.
The mare just happened to have caught his own invitation and attention, whatever that may mean. He is certain he might never cross paths with her again, or if anywhere, only here. So he's his typical aloof, silent, brooding self. Everything he was just fine with being.
Though his eyes have now since abandoned their previous subject, the fighters in the ring and the shouts among the people a mere blur. As she studies him he studies her; unabashedly and without reserve, though in no way that denotes a demeaning connotation. It was more of a size-up, as though he were seeing an opponent rather than a new acquaintance. She may be familiar with masks but he wore none; he was as she saw him, however that may be, and she was as he saw her.
"You've shown you won't let anyone so much as lay a tooth on your hide, yet your scars tell a different story. I doubt any of them are from this arena." An observation, nothing more - unless she so desired to lay a few stories upon him - but he himself is a closed book, and so expects her own reservations to stem from her obvious, less-than-friendly experiences.
@Castalla <3
A rough breath is cast from his nose as his eyes once more move to study the arena - only this time they get caught on the same pale mare that is now pushing through bodies straight for him. He watches her, patient and impartial, as she approaches him and speaks above the surrounding voices.
"You just grounded a stallion more than half your size. I know you can," he starts, overlooking her now that she's a bit closer; her scars, the ferocious blue of her eyes - they remind him of a thunderstorm - and the confidence she exudes. Yes, this was most definitely a winner here. But he can't help but wonder what stories all of those scars tell; and then there's curious ones, the ones with predatorial bitemarks... "The man was just an unpleasant headache. And I'm not one for listenin' to ignorant, sore words." He knew she could have handled it, and in the end she did have her say. If he was honest, he'd actually had been sorely disappointed if she hadn't followed up his words with some of her own. Not that it was something he'd have held onto. The grasp he has on this area and these surrounding souls was loose at best and straight avoidance at worst.
The mare just happened to have caught his own invitation and attention, whatever that may mean. He is certain he might never cross paths with her again, or if anywhere, only here. So he's his typical aloof, silent, brooding self. Everything he was just fine with being.
Though his eyes have now since abandoned their previous subject, the fighters in the ring and the shouts among the people a mere blur. As she studies him he studies her; unabashedly and without reserve, though in no way that denotes a demeaning connotation. It was more of a size-up, as though he were seeing an opponent rather than a new acquaintance. She may be familiar with masks but he wore none; he was as she saw him, however that may be, and she was as he saw her.
"You've shown you won't let anyone so much as lay a tooth on your hide, yet your scars tell a different story. I doubt any of them are from this arena." An observation, nothing more - unless she so desired to lay a few stories upon him - but he himself is a closed book, and so expects her own reservations to stem from her obvious, less-than-friendly experiences.
Speech
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