[ Post a Response | Desreal ]
Posted by Phyr on October 5, 2008, 12:17 am, in reply to "Six says I stay; seven says I ride. [ANY!]" Ash looked troubled. Likely it wasn’t Phyr’s place to notice, but one does not live as long as he had without having some talent in reading the body language of his peers. Regardless, the black stallion had spotted Ash while buried deep in his own ruminations, and a combination of boredom and interest had driven him to approach the other stallion. Phyr did not necessarily cut an impressive figure, bearing the signs of age beyond his years and more – stranger – scars than even a lifetime of battle could accumulate, but still he carried himself with quiet dignity and his black eyes glittered dully with hard-earned understanding. The swarthy beast held his distance for a time, scenting the residue of blood on the wind, and wrinkled his nose in distaste. There was no way for him to know about the exotic perils of this new incarnation of the element: the Shards, the Hellhounds, the keepers, and their respective thralls – and he didn’t bother pretending to know. He just didn’t like the smell of blood. At length he approached the younger horse, content that he had sufficiently calmed down from whatever had driven him to this lonely place, and hailed him with a polite nod. “You seem stressed.” An unnecessary speculation, but Phyr tried his best to be straightforward. If Ash were the type to labor over making himself unreadable, it would a least unobtrusively inform him that he had some work to do; otherwise, it was just his attempt at expressing proper empathy. Truly, his tone of voice was empathetic enough. Phyr tilted his head slowly as he looked Ash over, thinking silently for a moment before continuing. “My name is Phyr. I am no creature of great talent or import, but perhaps I can help.” The stallion extended his neck like an inquisitive cat, catching again the faint residue of blood’s metallic scent. He drew back. “You, at least.”
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