They make no attempt to leave as he approaches, and Pteron stands quietly as the teal mare steps even with the black and looks him over. There is no hiding what he is, though Pteron does make his left hind leg invisible (perhaps just before she sees it). It’s something that amuses him, though when someone unexpected arrives Pteron is briefly grateful that the invisible leg is on his opposite side. Perhaps Jakub will not notice. Beyond a missing leg, Pteron is remarkable only for his color and wings.
There is nothing familiar about the black stallion that approaches, but Pteron’s eyes flick across the recent-looking scars that mar the stallion’s dark hide. The pegasus is a poor judge of the timing of injuries, but he knows enough to wonder if they might be war wounds. For an instant his olive eyes narrow. Not in dislike, but it might look quite like it. Instead, he is trying to place the raven stallion, piecing together what he can. The man does not smell of any land Pteron has visited, but he is surely from Beqanna, Pteron thinks. He could have been on either side if those injuries were from battle in Tephra, perhaps he is a Pangean, Nerinian, or Taigan. Maybe he is from one of the islands, Pteron suddenly thinks, and the thought of hearing more about them brightens his pale face with interest.
“Conversation.” Pteron answers truthfully, before adding with a quick smile: “And hope that it might lead to a recruit.”
The older mare does not appear to be impressed by the black stallion’s question, but Pteron is not willing to let the conversation be soured so quickly. Having already answered himself, he speaks after Kota, asking: “Do we get a prize if we guess correctly?” with a curious raise of his striped brow, amusement sparkling in his olive gaze.
@[Let] @[Kota] @[Jakub]
There is nothing familiar about the black stallion that approaches, but Pteron’s eyes flick across the recent-looking scars that mar the stallion’s dark hide. The pegasus is a poor judge of the timing of injuries, but he knows enough to wonder if they might be war wounds. For an instant his olive eyes narrow. Not in dislike, but it might look quite like it. Instead, he is trying to place the raven stallion, piecing together what he can. The man does not smell of any land Pteron has visited, but he is surely from Beqanna, Pteron thinks. He could have been on either side if those injuries were from battle in Tephra, perhaps he is a Pangean, Nerinian, or Taigan. Maybe he is from one of the islands, Pteron suddenly thinks, and the thought of hearing more about them brightens his pale face with interest.
“Conversation.” Pteron answers truthfully, before adding with a quick smile: “And hope that it might lead to a recruit.”
The older mare does not appear to be impressed by the black stallion’s question, but Pteron is not willing to let the conversation be soured so quickly. Having already answered himself, he speaks after Kota, asking: “Do we get a prize if we guess correctly?” with a curious raise of his striped brow, amusement sparkling in his olive gaze.
@[Let] @[Kota] @[Jakub]