While he bemoaned of his loneliness he was a creature solitary in nature, and thus the arrival of another was ill-met, at least within his dark breast. Perhaps had he known that a soul so chatty was to pass this route, he would have elected a more shadowed place to lay his rest. His loneliness was of a different beast than his solitude, after all, and not something the mere presence of another could comfort nor ease. Yet none of this he let show, his fine features ever impassive and held as much expression as a stone.
His companion was a mare of soft gold and creams, flowers of lavender like the fingers of a gentle dawn cascading from silken locks. She was fair, in her way, but the sight of her soured his tongue and he turned an eye as blind as stone to her beauty. She was light and fair, and had she met the one that had stirred his dead heart she would be crushed by his very presence, so delicate was her fairness. She was the antithesis to everything he was, everything that made up who the raven stallion was, even down to the very hues of their coats, and so he regarded her with only stony patience and equally stony silence as she galled to lay beside him without giving him chance to answer. Ah, but this irritation did not show, no flicker of emotion across features carved of ebony, nor did flicking ears betray his thoughts. He merely regarded her with a slow patience and impassivity, as one does an inanimate object.
Her query, too, is answered with silence and flat inattention at first, those haunting white-opal eyes staring at her as if seeing through her, before he turned his gaze away and out back to the sea once more. On the silence continued, nothing but the wind stirring strands of silken black and gold, the crash of the sea and the whisper of breaths the only sounds to penetrate it. Whence finally words leave his lips, they are thick with lack of emotion, each syllable falling with the ease of pebbles from the hand. "I know not, mine mind never gave such fancies sustenance. Thou ask a queer question to a stranger, perchance one may call thee queer as well." He was all too aware of his accent, foreign and archaic in comparison to her lilting tones, and a part of his mind cursed himself for such, for it was something all to easy to notice and recall given the similarity all seemed to have while speaking the Common Tongue that itself was new to him. Finally those eyes returned to his uninvited companion, to gaze upon her fairness with impassive emptiness even as his words filled the air.
"Art thou a strange lass, wondering unto the mysteries of the deep thou shalt never know, or was that thine poor attempt to spark speech?" Though, he supposed, not so poor as he had indeed answered her... but it was all in the manner of his guise. 'Vasher' would not be so impolite as to ignore a mare, even one Ammon found upon first impressions to be rather... lacking.
His companion was a mare of soft gold and creams, flowers of lavender like the fingers of a gentle dawn cascading from silken locks. She was fair, in her way, but the sight of her soured his tongue and he turned an eye as blind as stone to her beauty. She was light and fair, and had she met the one that had stirred his dead heart she would be crushed by his very presence, so delicate was her fairness. She was the antithesis to everything he was, everything that made up who the raven stallion was, even down to the very hues of their coats, and so he regarded her with only stony patience and equally stony silence as she galled to lay beside him without giving him chance to answer. Ah, but this irritation did not show, no flicker of emotion across features carved of ebony, nor did flicking ears betray his thoughts. He merely regarded her with a slow patience and impassivity, as one does an inanimate object.
Her query, too, is answered with silence and flat inattention at first, those haunting white-opal eyes staring at her as if seeing through her, before he turned his gaze away and out back to the sea once more. On the silence continued, nothing but the wind stirring strands of silken black and gold, the crash of the sea and the whisper of breaths the only sounds to penetrate it. Whence finally words leave his lips, they are thick with lack of emotion, each syllable falling with the ease of pebbles from the hand. "I know not, mine mind never gave such fancies sustenance. Thou ask a queer question to a stranger, perchance one may call thee queer as well." He was all too aware of his accent, foreign and archaic in comparison to her lilting tones, and a part of his mind cursed himself for such, for it was something all to easy to notice and recall given the similarity all seemed to have while speaking the Common Tongue that itself was new to him. Finally those eyes returned to his uninvited companion, to gaze upon her fairness with impassive emptiness even as his words filled the air.
"Art thou a strange lass, wondering unto the mysteries of the deep thou shalt never know, or was that thine poor attempt to spark speech?" Though, he supposed, not so poor as he had indeed answered her... but it was all in the manner of his guise. 'Vasher' would not be so impolite as to ignore a mare, even one Ammon found upon first impressions to be rather... lacking.
I am the villain of this story
What else could i ever be?
What else could i ever be?
MUSONART
