bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze
if you must drink of me, take of me what you please
The girl appears to lose interest in him, and Woolf cannot bring himself to care one way or another. She had been mistaken in thinking that he was easy prey—or, rather, prey at all. He was not something to be caught or tricked or manipulated. He was not some simple-minded man who was easily distracted by the curve of hip or promise of a night. He did not bend to the whims of a woman, nor was he interested in becoming their plaything. So he doesn’t bother to call after her as she begins to make her way toward the edge of the field, but neither does he mind when she chooses otherwise, deciding instead to stay.
It is, like so many things of this world, of little consequence to him.
He is a single-track minded stallion and his green eyes drill into the Amazonian mare, watching her as she begins to explain the kingdoms, the deal, and the puzzling reason behind why she would offer up a place for him to stay when she did not reside there. At her explanation, the magician merely nods, huffing so that a plume of fog rises. “An honorable contract,” is all he comments, because he can at least see the value in the exchange. The trade of goods and services was black and white with little emotion involved.
His interest admittedly piques as she explains that they serve as a kingdom for hire.
He was not certain how he felt about being sold to the highest bidder, but it did promise an outlet for his boredom—a chance for him to flex his powers—and it did not require that he sign away his loyalty in an oath of blood. It was an interesting offer, and he mulls it over, dark eyes serious.
“You will be disappointed if you expect loyalty from me,” he is blunt, honest, massive shoulders rolling. “I can offer many things, but loyalty is not one of them.” The mulberry stallion is not cruel in the delivery nor ashamed of it and he holds the mare’s gaze evenly, letting the silence between them stretch on for a moment longer before he breaks it. “I would like to visit both before I make a decision.” He considers calling it a final decision but so much in his life is temporary—constantly changing with the cosmos—that he retracts the word before it ever breeches his lips. Instead, he gives a crooked smile.
“Does your contract include chaperoned visits or am I on my own if I’d like to visit Loess?”
woolf
I am loathed to say it's the devil's taste
