Willfur
The scents of leather, wax, charcoal, and parchment crowd into the stallion's nose like a group of old friends, each eager to be the first to clasp his shoulder and give a warm welcome back. He inhales deeply, glad of the quiet familiarity after long hours away, unwillingly immersed in drama and politics, assaulted by questions he can't answer in regards to past or future, and the resentment that always follows.
But how should he know such things?
Sighing, he flops down into a stack of pillows tucked into one of the semi-secluded alcoves at the fridges of the main atrium, a favorite spot for the mule, who enjoys watching visitors come and go from the library almost as much as he does studying the books and parchments collected therein. Unfortunately, he has only a moment to arrange himself, folding his feathered legs beneath him in a way that doesn't stifle the circulation, before a new voice breaks the silence, and this one doesn't sound particularly happy either.
"Oh, uh." He looks up at the stranger, exhaustion evident in his eyes, the lower lids visibly darkened and creased with stress, but his interest is piqued by the golden piercing struck through the other man's nostrils, the trappings of metal and luxurious green fabric encircling his neck with winking, ruby red jewels at its edges. Between these and the dark hair accenting the lines of his body, the stranger makes for a very exotic picture, with his long legs adding an elegance not common to horses of such a stature. He must be even taller than Willfur is.
"I was planning to stay a while-" He hesitates, "If that's alright?" There's no legitimate reason to be asking a stranger for permission to stay here, in a building that he has just as much right to as anyone else, but it seems like the most peaceable thing to do. "I'm Willfur. Would it bother you terribly if I stayed? It really has been a long day."
He probably would leave, or at least move out of sight, if the man insisted, but he dearly hopes it won't come to that as he exhales heavily, chin dropping to rest on a cushion pinched between his knees and his long, long ears splaying out loosely atop his head. Even a short rest would do him good, and a kind word even more so, but he's learned not to expect too much from these Novians, at least not at first. They're slow to warm up to things, least of all change, as recent events have shown in violent, vivid detail, and he's all out of energy to help anyone else work through anymore problems today.
Either the world will still be here tomorrow, or it won't.
"talk talk talk"
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