THE TRUEST WAY TO KNOW THAT I'M ALIVE
Ah. So he was a foreigner, too. It was small comfort to Toro that Raymond was from elsewhere. He knew what the bison were. An insignificant question still left his chest tight with the embarassment of ignorance. He'd left the place he knew in order to find somewhere he would feel better, but in doing so had landed himself somewhere entirely unfamiliar. He had to either ask every question that came to his mind or find out the hard way. He didn't like it.
"Give them their space and they'll ignore you. You're no threat to them." The unfamiliarity of the bison left him tense, no matter what the stranger could've said. He'd exchanged constant self-hatred for constant discomfort (with a side of self-hatred). Toro wasn't sure it was in him to do better. "Been here long?" He didn't know. If he had been he'd probably know what a bison was. "Uh, no. Not really. Maybe half a year." He tried to think back on the season, the land, something - to no avail. He was distracted by another thought, that of the stallion's form. His eyes traveled Raymond's tail to the blade at the tip. It looked like it could split flesh with a tap. Come to think of it, the red stallion looked built for it - his body was hard and muscles defined, and, if he'd learned anything, size wasn't everything; he reckoned Raymond could take down someone Toro's size or larger. Probably. He lingered again on the bladed tail, it spoke volumes of the reason for his birth, if not his purpose. Not looking up to Raymond's face, he asked, "Is that your weapon of choice?"
@Raymond beats
"What I say,"
What I think,
@Raymond beats
"What I say,"
What I think,
