There’s a female nearby, and she reeks of hesitation. And sleepiness, definitely. Had he been hunting she would make ideal prey, but the shifter never had developed a taste for larger grazers - especially not horses. As a lone wolf he could never imagine to take one down, and in a group he preferred to hunt away from those he thought of as kin.
Yet despite her drowsiness and her cautiousness, she emerges. Cyneric mentally thanks her for that: it was high time he interacted with his other species, the horse. He’s spent too long as a wolf, because it had always been easier for him. He’d always be able to roam, to be accepted for who he was with a pack, and to feel secure. Herd or pack animal, he always longed just for that - companionship.
Her conversation starter might just be as rusty as he is - he’d start to wave his tail but remembers just in time that wagging it won’t tell her anything. Instead, he moves his head from the water and grins at her. ”Or maybe we’re up late?” he questions. Blue eyes dance over her body curiously, trying to gauge her body language. He notices a touch of pink, which distincts her from a regular bay, just as his one nebula sock is different. He decides that he likes that about her - similar and yet strange.
@[greta]