I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
To say Ashhal had any favorites would be an overly optimistic assumption. Like the other pegasus, he had those he tolerated. The rest he simply didn’t. Unlike Tarian, Ashhal has no pressing concerns for anyone other than himself. His daily routine consisted of doing whatever he damned well pleased in that particular moment. Nothing more and nothing less.
As similar as the two of them look, it’s actually rather amazing they tolerate one another as well as they do. Tarian stands with a faintly regal bearing, pale coat immaculately kept even in the cloying red dust of Loess. Ashhal on the other hand stands with all the relaxed demeanor of a tiger waiting to strike. His similarly pale coat is flecked by dust and sweat and marked by scars, locks twisted and tangled into knots that would never be salvaged. He also highly doubts the decidedly prim Tarian would ever have once been found covered in mud and algae as Ashhal had, delirious from toxins. He should have died that day, just as he should have when the beast clawed its way from his body.
He has no desire to think on why he hadn’t however.
When Tarian finally replies, nodding briefly at his shoulder, Ashhal replies only with a grunt. He doesn’t particularly care to hear what kingdom business the other stallion has planned for himself and would have flatly said so had Tarian not added the last bit.
Ashhal stiffens, brows knitting into a fiercely unpleasant expression, lips wreathed in his own displeasure. “Why the fuck would you do that?” he growls bluntly, genuinely confused. A confusion that makes an incredibly uncomfortable bedfellow. Suddenly restless, Ashhal shifts, head jerking around to peer at the worn path leading around the large rock formation to the spring just on the other side. Turning his dark eyes sharply back to Tarian, he adds brusquely. “You know damned well I’m not a fucking diplomat.”
He turns then, stalking down the path to the spring. Just before he rounds the corner, he tosses over his shoulder, “Do you hate Sylva so much then?”
If Tarian wanted to press the issue, he could do it on Ashhal’s terms. Which, at this particular moment, meant a bath for himself.
@[Tarian]