IT MUST BE LONELY
when you're up there looking down
He's come to relish fighting. The burn of muscles and dampness that settles under his fur. The wounds he would carry after they turn into scars. Leviathan has long been one that enjoys a good spar and fight, and has also come to be far too confident in his own abilities. Enough that he doesn't cast paranoid glances or wary gazes even when his head is down and his lips are touching cold water. He knows his strength, and knows honor in Novus. Many here would never attack unprovoked, and even if they did, he had the confidence to defend himself. If he earned a few new scars out of it, so what?
So he only sees movement and passes a mildly curious glance toward a pegasus, only to look away without so much as a worry.
There is no greeting, only silence as he drinks his fill and lifts his head. It doesn't take much for him to convince himself to step into the stream itself a little more, sinking into the water and allowing it to lap at his heated body, cooling him off and allowing him a sharper focus. He only has a few nicks here and there; the fight hadn't been meant to injure but to train. He's sorely lacking in that department: it's been far too long since he's raised hoof and horn in any sort of manner other than before when he had faced the Teryr. That had been a hunt, but other than that? Spars, not war, had been his lifeblood.
It helped distract him.
His ears swivel, and he doesn't give another glance towards the mare, focusing instead on sinking more in the water, muscles still moving to prevent any sort of soreness from settling in. Later on, he'll tend to whatever bruises he has. Torstein had made a good impression those years ago, and Leviathan keeps a batch of aloe in his own little quarters, just to help tend his wounds and soreness when it felt like too much.
So he only sees movement and passes a mildly curious glance toward a pegasus, only to look away without so much as a worry.
There is no greeting, only silence as he drinks his fill and lifts his head. It doesn't take much for him to convince himself to step into the stream itself a little more, sinking into the water and allowing it to lap at his heated body, cooling him off and allowing him a sharper focus. He only has a few nicks here and there; the fight hadn't been meant to injure but to train. He's sorely lacking in that department: it's been far too long since he's raised hoof and horn in any sort of manner other than before when he had faced the Teryr. That had been a hunt, but other than that? Spars, not war, had been his lifeblood.
It helped distract him.
His ears swivel, and he doesn't give another glance towards the mare, focusing instead on sinking more in the water, muscles still moving to prevent any sort of soreness from settling in. Later on, he'll tend to whatever bruises he has. Torstein had made a good impression those years ago, and Leviathan keeps a batch of aloe in his own little quarters, just to help tend his wounds and soreness when it felt like too much.
@Warbird
don't mind him, omfg
