Ah, rain. Both a pleasant and unpleasant act of nature if you asked Weir. Still, even if you didn't ask he would be of the same opinion, and just as like to tell you. The roan had set off to the fields at a crawl, watching the cloud cover accumulate overhead, all until the thunder heads had unleashed their liquids below. He was positively soaked, auburn tendrils plastered flat against his neck, his plume stuck inconveniently to his left buttock.
The gentleman had, at the very least, picked up the pace. He trotted with intent, spying a group of three that were equally caught in the downpour. One a brawny black male, toned, grizzlied. A soldier most likely for whichever Kingdom he called home, a seasoned one if Weir were to guess. A large female was present as well, she also had a lovely canvas of roan and a blaze to boot. Though there would be no mistaking one for the other, as she towered over both males.
"Hello sir, my lady, are we in need of-oh." Oh indeed, his curiousity flared as he finally viewed the 3rd the woman had hid. He had at first thought the two might be in need of assistance, why ever else had they stood stock in the open? This though, this was wonderful, he was delighted he had stopped by. "Why what a glorious variation," his words terribly bright for such weather, nor did he avert his eyes. Amber orbs inquire at the grullo's crown, an intense desire to inspect the second set of ears.
He cleared his throat, taking in the rest of the view. Such a thin,rail-like creature. "Pardon me. I am Weir of the Dale, such a pleasure." He really meant it too, his voice and eyes alight with interest.
