Eyes the color of wine met with Maxence's briefly, and Tor saw his questioning gaze; most likely accented by a furrowed brow or a lazy flick of an ear. Truth be told, he couldn't exactly blame the Sovereign for questioning him. Afterall, Tor had shown very little faith in the stallion across ... well, almost every encounter they had. But while Tor was not a sympathetic or trusting creature by nature, he certainly wasn't about to shoot himself in the foot when, after all, he was stuck here.
For good.
The thought had taken a long time to settle; that he would never grace the lands of Stolthet again. That his empire was ripped so violently from his hands, just as his father --...
He felt his blood boil. His muscles tense. His teeth grit - he tasted sand again. All else drowned out, becoming a hazy mumble as he felt his throat tighten, his anger surface; the Triennial Eye flicked open slowly, peering around the room with its erratic gaze while Tor's own gaze remained glued to the bright rays shining through the open window. He felt the heat radiating off of it.
He heard a name: Seraphina, the collared. How fitting for her to be shackled to Maxence's heels.
He heard Avdotya's name. He questioned if she could swallow her pride long enough to heed Maxence's words, as strong willed as she was.
And then he heard his name. He was abruptly ripped from his anger and frustration, and his eyes quickly snapped up to Maxence with a brief look of disbelief. Warden? Warden.
In all his attempts to learn more about this strange land, he had read about the Courts far more than most else. The Warden enacted the decrees of the Sovereign. And for a brief moment... Maybe his judgement isn't as bad as I assumed it was.
Such a vain and selfish thought that was, Tor knew as much.
And just as slowly as the thought settled, he walked up and took his place where asked. At his side was Leviathan, Inkheart, and Bexley - the latter of whom was directly beside him. The tiny, golden mare practically pranced in place as she stood beside the rest of the Counsel, and Tor stared at her. Such a peculiar little creature she was... and next to him, she was practically dwarfed. A warm breath huffed out of his nostrils, and his head lowered very slightly towards the golden mare - or a filly, with how she was acting. "Your antics give away your age," he murmured softly to her, eyes the color of mulled wine peering curiously at her in a sideways glance. But just as quickly as the hushed statement was muttered, his gaze fell away from her and settled upon the growing crowd in front of them. For while Maxence barked out the rules of the land, the massive stallion took the time to survey each inhabitant that stood before the Regime and Counsel.
He does not forget faces.
Action. Thoughts. "Speech."
HE GON GET YOU
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I have three eyes
TWO TO LOOK ONE TO SEE
