Over one of those cream gold withers does the chiseled skull swing. Pale blue eyes meet the mare as that small toying smile is cast towards her like he was expecting her, like she was meant to run into the stallion. Behind those pale blue pools is a glint that gave him a mischievious look like he held a secret that he pinky swore to never tell. "Hello Shadowmere." Words are clipped and light with his nordic accent. "I am fond of this time of year. So much light that the soul can not help but to be warmed." Face is moved back to his once statuesque stance, observing the movement in the meadow as the crows caw once again. Sight is shifted to the murder of crows, listening and reading them before looking back to his newfound companion.
Ragnar doesn't seem to notice her disfigurement. She held scars and that impresses Ragnar. Scars are symbols, not necessarily badges. Like braille for the blind, you could run your fingers over each and every one of them and your fingers would be reading a lifetime. But not all scars are on the surface so Ragnar enjoys this woman's company. She is not trying to side up to him. She is genuine. She had no one to impress nor does she care, he can read that much with his mischievious eyes.
Once again over his shoulder, "I'm Ragnar", his address short and informal like he has known Shadowmere for eons. Eyes linger a second as the secret holding smile continues to touch his lips and giving him a coltish charm. "What brings you to the meadow?" Syllables clipped and short. He is rather straight to the point as it is a waste to talk in riddles. He enjoys the charred hued woman and her oddness. Visage returning to look upon the spawl of land laid out before them.