Eaglecrest: To entertain ; For Ixtab and Selene

He is intruding.

Brief, spur-like steps, bring him to the casting shade of a trembling tree (shorn by fire, wilted by ash) where he stands, over them, like a mirror-mind of a night horror; unknown. His ears, they are alert against the flurry of his face, the charm of him smiling with a carelessness that does little to hide the sharp of his eyes, the pierce of his glance. He is languid in the mere knowledge. Flank rested, he yawns widely into the noon of their quiet, his smirk lurking against his lip ; knowing. Words, ah they do not harm nor hinder, he is aware and perhaps for this, he is silent in the appraisal of their company. Handsome and noble before their peering eyes, if innocent and guilt-less. Indeed, the quality of him, fragile by havoc shadow and rearing light-hood, becomes a mask of hope - lying even in it’s silence. They, the mares of the new-born crest, adorn him with their scent ; nostrils flaring against their welcoming tide. He beckons them, finally, with the laughter of his word (reamed in youthful rue) - “You speak the truth,” a pause and then tongue curling with the cradle of heat - “Ixtab.”

He steps from the smart-shadow and is seen, head down and poll drawn loosely against his swinging stride as he advances ; circling them as if invited (perhaps not so uncalled). Hoof-pressed against the earth near the pregnant, his muzzle snatches a brief gauge of her year, eyes rolling in the snarl of quiet. Tossing the fine angles of his face, up to the sky that does not listen, he turns from her - to the other - but does not speak, merely looking with an aptitude of graciousness that is unbecoming on his feature. Indeed, he steps close, murmuring to her (and to her alone) a secret ; “Unless, you are she.”