His place in the field is slightly behind the white skeletal mare. Skeletal ghost, ghostly skeletal. Skin and bones, skin... bone-white skin on bones. Isn't she just lovely.
He remembers Lokii's explanation of the hearth though. She must have one too, but, to remove it, to examine it, would ruin her skeletal white. Besides, he knows what the heart looks like now - a piece of machinery designed to pump blood through veins in a rather strong and fast fashion - for tall horses like those gathered, quite the effort.
But having a strong heart did not mean anything in this world.
The bay mare then - well, she sees through him as she does the others, only perhaps a little surprised by either his stares or his appearance. Wishbone, she says is her name, he picks it up and cherishes it; he'd love to make wishes on bones, her name is perfect, but unfortunately it belongs to a rather plain bay instead of to the bone-white skeleton mare.
His guess is that perfection is near-impossible to achieve.
But oh, no - the skeletal white mare is bored. That's a bad thing, she might move away too soon. He finally makes his way over to them, then; not to partake in the conversation, but to come close to the image of perfection, the ghost, the walking skeleton, the bone-white-bones. It's just after she asks a question, but it wasn't a question for him, so he ignores it.
Small talk.
Been there enough never to have done that.
Instead he likes to offer weird questions, or unappropriate touches; a child as he is, he's thus far always been forgiven. His stalker-self creeps up to the white skin over a white rib bone; stretching his nose to touch it. Is it soft like skin? Does it feel like bone instead?
Rajanish
screaming out loud
@[Wishbone]
@[Sakara] Have a stalker. (: