Desreal: Actually, the hats are optional; JOH

They say that solitude undoes even the strongest character, that utter isolation can destroy far worse than famine or even heartbreak.

Kurai is the exception to this rule.

Like nearly every other basic need or necessity, Kurai foregoes company as much as he can. He endures three types of encounters – encounters with someone curious about him, encounters with someone he thinks he can use, and encounters with someone he intends to kill. The latter is usually rather short-lived. The former is the case now. He stands alone in the shadow-swept meadow and the young filly goes to him.

For a moment he is forcibly reminded of Fenrisulfr- when she was this young she came to him in much the same way.

He is dangerous, but at that moment it is in look alone – he is placid as a slumbering dragon, vaguely interested in this young creature and her questions.

He regards her with an ironic smile beneath a swath of raven forelock which falls across jagged metal scales. “I’ve been told that I don’t make friends easily,” his voice is quiet, deep, emotionless – for all that he can remember he’s never spoken with an ounce of feeling, and this is a bit of an alarming statistic coming from someone who distinctly recalls the fall of the ancient empires.

“I suppose it’s the wings.” He adjusts the tremendous leathery appendages at his sides. They catch the moonlight and shine sharply, like polished metal in the blue light.

“You are from Andarin,” he observes idly, “A friend of mine is Queen there. The grey one, not the insufferably friendly one.”