It’s hard to stop what you can’t see, anyone

[Raed]

I’ll break you a hundred different ways and I’ll make you remember my face - - - Unbearable patience is one of Raed’s many virtues, but once a senseless creature tries to use whatever trait the universe has granted them in a manner with the intent to physically harm, well, that changed things a bit. His own powers were not meant to be used against anyone else, save for the mind reading, but even that he rarely used. At this point in his life he had complete control over it, switching it on and off like a dial, and more often than not, it was off. He truthfully had little interest in what others were thinking. For the most part it was terribly boring. The problem with everyone in Beqanna is they all found their own lives to be incredibly interesting, and often thought themselves far too important. Little did they know that every other horse in the meadow was thinking and feeling the exact same thing. No one was as special as they liked to think. As a prey animal, every horse is ingrained with a fight or flight instinct. It is a hair-trigger reflex, one that takes almost no effort to pick one or the other. Without it, they would have been extinct a long time ago. For the most part, the residents of Beqanna did not have to rely on it much, since they seemed to have evolved into another species entirely, but it’s there. And so the instant the stranger makes a move into his space, he spins, his ears disappearing into the tangled mess of mane.  In a split-second he sends a full-force kick at the stallion’s direction, and while his legs slid through the frost aura and he felt the pinpricks of the cold, it’s hardly unbearable. Frost was cold, and most likely if he sat there and leaned constant contact into the aura it would hurt, but kicking at him was no different than stepping into glacier-melted water. It may be uncomfortable, but it’s not going to cause lasting damage unless he submerged himself into it. Anyone that has been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of an equine kick can vouch for how suddenly it happens, and the element of surprise is all he’s really going for. He only turns part way now, his muscles pulled taut beneath the brightly colored pelt, prepared for whatever the stallion may do in response. Deftly, he reaches into the depths of the stallion’s mind - flipping through the thoughts like a book. They are fragments, since we rarely walk around and think in whole, narrative sentences, but it is enough for him to get he idea of the source of the stranger’s anger. With  a piercing glare he says snidely, ”Maybe your girlfriend would be more interested in sticking around if you weren’t so busy pouting and damaging the plant-life.” R A E D the cerulean son of trashlip and ryatah

@[Leilan]