11-27-2015, 09:21 PM
Quiet. That's what she calls him.
She isn't wrong, by any means, but he bristles all the same; his name means much more than just his silence. His name is meaningful, and his silence is not his fault; his feral upbringing is a part of him, just as this mare's strange behavior must be a part of hers. The brush against his shoulder was as deliberate as the sugar-sweetness in her voice, fake but obviously playing along with what she thinks he is. He is not a fighter, or a fake, but he knows this mare must be trouble. Her patronizing smile is enough to make his instincts worry, warning signs flashing.
He wants her anyways.
He is alerted to another, their voice slicker than snakeskin, and his ears pin back. This is open range, he knows that, but as one stallion to another, he is not amused. But his lack of vocabulary makes voicing his displeasure harder - especially since most around him do not communicate, nor understand, through body language and wordless voice. He is curious as to why this second stallion would ask such a question, but the mare seems amused. Her joke carries more of a suggestion than he would like, and without a doubt he could see her inducing a conflict.
Still.
Her question frustrates him, and he shakes his head, a snort blowing past his lips as he fixes his eyes on her. Her being approached was 'weird'? She was alone, and so were they - it seemed only logical to approach. But to answer her question, he stepped closer, snaking out his neck to graze his teeth gently along her shoulder. Not meant to challenge, but to herd, as if she were an unruly mare trying to leave. He moved his head back, neck arching, head tilting slightly, ears flicking from the other stallion - Eyes, she called him, - to the red mare. He could only hope she liked him better.