"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Eugene is only thinking about how wise and knowledgeable this horned girl is to know so much about the world. He examines the hard ice (just by glancing at it with his golden eyes) and nods at her explanation, instantly taking it as gospel. “Oh. Ice.” He repeats the word hesitantly, making it fairly obvious that he has never heard or said the word before in his life. Eugene does his best to try to explain why he was so confused, though, not wanting this girl to think he was just some idiot that didn’t know what simple things were.
He is, of course, but he doesn’t want her to think that. Not when he’s going to make a friend! He shuffles one of his dark hooves in the snow and looks down at it with what can only be described as worry. “I’m not sure I like the cold very much. Where I’m from, everything is green all the time.”
Her question brings forth a smile though and he holds still while she comes close and sniffs at them. If he didn’t know what ice was, it seems perfectly reasonable that she wouldn’t know what shells are. “They’re seashells.” He shakes his neck so that they clink a little bit with the movement, showing them off a little bit. “You can take one if you want - it won’t hurt!”
