12-30-2017, 10:38 AM
like the sun swallowed up by the earth
He is not exactly thrilled with the way their previous conversation had gone, and when the magician calls to him, his ears flick backward into his mane with a trill of annoyance, his muscles coiling uneasily beneath the auburn of his skin. Warrick has always been a peaceful creature, with diplomacy always at the forefront of his mind, but he realizes that Reagan does not play by those rules and he will need to adjust accordingly before their next conversation. The woman is likely the most powerful creature he has ever witnessed, and though her presence is intimidating (which he feels like Reagan enjoys), he is not hesitant to stride up before her, cobalt wings folded neatly into his sides, the feathers ruffling slightly as he flexes the lithe bone. “Reagan,” he says indifferently, a tiny nod of his head towards her in greeting. He watches her carefully, not at all surprised that Ceara is her daughter - he can see the fire beneath the woman’s eyes that match the ferocity of the young mare - but he is surprised that she has sought him out. He had been hoping that Reagan would disappear into the volcano’s shadow and remain there until she no longer wished to reside in Tephra (he can tell she holds no true affection for the land, but her loyalty and adoration is to Offspring and he perhaps is the only reason she remains - and he [and Ceara] is perhaps the only reason Warrick allows her to).
The previous correspondence had been riddled with rife emotion and unsettled qualms, which Warrick suggested she delve into outside of their borders - the magic woman is powerful and the fire in her eyes when she recognized Romek was not one of understanding - she had been ready to kill the man, and Warrick would not have been surprised if she had engulfed him in flames or threw him into the pits of the volcano. Whatever had been her plan, Warrick had requested her anger (and unlimited power) leave Tephra out of it.
She had not responded well to the suggestion, turning her burning gaze and heated words onto Warrick which left him with a terrible first impression of the grey woman. He had seen hide nor hair of the one called Romek, and he wonders if she had successfully gotten rid of him and satisfied her need for a pound of flesh.
He halts squarely before her, the thickness of his black forelock falling into the cobalt of his cool gaze, the humid wind then brushing it to the side of his face. The afternoon is beginning to give way into evening, and their shadows are elongated on the brittle dry grass of the mainland, a orange haze befalling them as dusk sets in. He keeps his thoughts steady, not knowing what she truly is capable of and attempting to rid himself of anything that would create a more tense situation than there already is.
“Good evening,” he states simply, rolling his shoulders slightly and trying to relax beneath the icy stare of the woman before him.
Warrick
@[Reagan]