The buckskin remains on the ground, clearly not threatened or impressed enough to rise as Anonymous greets him. A pompous ass might take it as an insult, but the assassin does not. After all, this is a pretense for him. The blue eyes gazing back at him seem genuine, though. The stoutly fellow is kind and polite, matching Emyrs's decorum. Oh the games we play. Pretenses, all of it. But he cannot simply go around announcing his name and calling himself the great assassin. Blending in is part of the game. He dips his dual-horned skull with a smile that does not quite reach his eyes. "But of course, Finnian. Feel no need to stand on ceremony for my sake." Anonymous steps back, giving this Finnian a little more breathing space, hoping to encourage the stallion to feel at ease. He thinks for a moment on his next words, and decides that the information is inconsequential to his life plans. "It seems we have something in common then. What brings you here, if I might ask?" Did he really care? No. But perhaps it might prove useful information in the future. And what story would he give Finnian? Was he a wandering minstrel come to find a new home to spread his songs and ballads? A stranger. A stranger in a new land. That's all he was - a commoner. |