Darling leave the light on for me
I'll be there before you close the door
Premonitions aside, her initial reaction to the approach of a stranger is admittedly refreshing. Vadar watches her without moving, admiring the subtle lines of her neck and the way she paints a pretty smile over her mouth as she turns to look. No signs of animosity harden her glare, she doesn’t leave; in fact she’s the farthest thing from ‘timid’ he’s ever seen - cutting her way to his side of the riverbank with those long legs of hers. Everything about this creature radiates a level of confidence that far surpasses his own, but the clown-faced stallion is caught in her web. He doesn’t struggle against the conflicting feelings of whether or not he should be engaging himself with a character like her, and he certainly makes no expression that would suggest this inner turmoil to his newfound companion.
He merely listens to her, passes a quiet sort of judgement over the pink and candy-purple female, then raises his chin to meet her curious (blatant) observation of his facial markings with a red-eyed stare of his own. “Coming from you, I could almost be convinced that’s a compliment.” He retorts to Jude’s sly, offhand manner of speaking. The rumble and roll of her thick accent feels nice on his upturned ears, like dark satin and a crackling fire. “Not a look many of us could pull off, Peregrine,” He grins gently, testing out her name in a voice as warm as the sun overhead. Nothing about him, aside from the obvious outer appearance, is aggressive or domineering. Vadar is a silent sort of strength, easygoing and astute but never cowardly. “though something tells me you’re all hands on deck for anything out of the ordinary.” He laughs softly, noticing the fan of sultry lashes rimming her alluring eyes.
Good god, she could stop death in its tracks.
“Humor me, please.” The black and silver male asks out of turn, “Have you got a sister or relative lingering around out there? Whoever your children’s father is, he’s a lucky bastard.” The vagabond compliments, shaking his head in obvious disbelief. Whatever kind of horse roamed around making miniature versions of this dame was certain to be an animal he never wanted to meet. Must drive a man to insanity, keeping up with her, Vadar thinks, content to reap the benefits of her attention while he had it. The sun flares bright and hot in the sky, and the oddly ‘morose’ stallion takes a comfortable position as he waits for her answer.
@[peregrine jude]