11-27-2015, 02:38 AM
He had seen much in his days. He was not unaccustomed to the unfamiliar, although much of his old home was unrecognizable to him. The ground was hard, cold, the trees bare and the sky more gray than blue; the wind was cold, here, but he was accustomed to such conditions. He was used to the coldness of the world, of others, and had seen many a devilish and many a saintly soul.
She was unlike anything he had seen.
She was not particularly unique, exactly, but something was off in her. He sensed that from the moment he laid eyes on her that there was a power that hid underneath. He is intrigued by her nonetheless. There will be more than one barrier there, he knows that. But he is drawn to her off-putting aura. So he approaches, ears trained on her; he is a stallion, but no fool - she could be dangerous, and he had just returned. Injury would be potentially fatal in such conditions.
So he approaches. And he waits.
He stopped by her, close enough to hear her breathing, and pawed the ground. If his approach hadn't caught her attention, he hoped that would. A low nicker sounded, deep in his throat, eyes looking over her body. She was strong, stronger than she appeared, and smart. He knew that instantly. Arzi could see the devil in her eyes, in the quivers in her coat, the way she faced the wind. Yet he stayed, waiting.
If he had anything, it was patience. And time.