He does not stop looking at her.
It is impolite to stare but this might be one of the lesser grievances he’ll level at her in the course of their time together.
Speckled and varnished and blue. Even her pelt is a conundrum of color that dazzles his senses. Each rattling rasping breath that she takes and lets out does the same - enchants him, but it is an old enchantment. The kind that bespeaks of timelessness and magic. It carried on into her voice, trailing ancientness and an accent he’d never be able to place except that it did not originate here.
Of that he was certain as much as he was that she had not originated here but immigrated in. Unlike him... or not so very much. He’d been something else out in the ether and the dark before his mother pulled him into the fetus forming in her womb. Then it had been a different dark that nurtured him, one full of nutrients and formation. Then this - his current existence. But his mind turns back to her even as his eyes still have not left the turn of her body towards him.
“Probably,” he responds in kind. To be honest, he’s never given it much thought but he knows that he is guilty of always wandering. It had become habit - a mainstay of his life. That might have also been because he could wander and walk through dreams too. In dreams, nothing was off limits to him. Only because he could manipulate them to the whims of his will.
He was thinking of how he’d always wandered without consequence until her eyes find him and the real of them holds him there. Abysm overlooks the matted fur and tattered mane, the dirt and malnourishment that she is rife with (and probably worms, she looks the sort, half-dead and all). Her comments leave him taken aback - was she blind also? He’s almost a stallion grown, very nearly so. Full of untested brawn and might that he’d never use, not when he could dream his opponents away with a wave of his nose.
For a moment he feels slighted - insulted. Then the moment passes and he remains decorous in the face of her shortcomings. She mentioned not caring for answers and so he gave her none of them. If she thought him a tottering milk-drunk foal than so be it. He drew on his power to clothe in just that: a foal’s shape and size so that he appeared to be at least weaned off the tit if nothing else.
Let her see him as an unassuming youth as he took a step back when she broached the sunlight at the forest’s darkened edge. “Yidhra...” he tries out the strangeness of her name on his tongue. He’s probably garbling it but does his best before offering up his own short utterance of - “Abysm.” Then - “What brings you here?” and the here is vague, purposefully.
@[Yidhra] my turn to apologize for the delay! and up to you if she sees him as a foal or sees through the dream-glamor to the stallion that he is lol
i would do anything for love,
but i won’t do that