theres an old man sitting on a throne thats saying...
Iset had meant to startle the newcomer. It wasn’t nice, but it was true. She found a sense of peace in seeing that she could accomplish her goal; she felt certain that if she could succeed in intimidating the newcomer, it meant that he would not pose a threat to her or Amet.
A small tendril of guilt snaked through her chest at his offer to leave. She hadn’t meant to drive him away, only to asses him and the situation, albeit a bit rudely. Just then, Amet appeared on the ridge line, picking his way through the craggy rocks and coming to Iset's side. The strange colt's emerald eyes linger on her before moving to her brother and then back again, and she can tell he was trying to size her up just like she was to him.
He introduced himself as Ryan, and a small sense of her security was restored in knowing his name. If you can call something by its name, it makes it far less frightening. She had learned this in the Dunes. Before she could assure him that he did not, in fact, have to leave, something happened.
The bastard changed colors.
Like he actually changed. Colors.
It was a slow transition; so slow that she convinced herself that it was a trick of the sun until she could deny it no longer. Iset had never seen anything like it before, and when she did, to say it startled her was an understatement.
“What the hell?” She exclaimed as the light buckskin of Ryan’s coat melted away into a shade that fell somewhere in the middle of the colors that blanketed her and her brothers bodies. Her golden eyes blinked at him in shock. “How. How on earth did you do that?” She questioned sharply. His previously muted golden coat took on what she believed to be his take on the natural shine that their coats held.
“I-just-what?” She sputtered, for the second time in her life at a loss for words.
...I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut