Braemar is no stranger to strange looks, especially on these isles, so it doesn’t fluster him when the colt eyes him like he’s a fish walking on its fins. He expects some sort of questions directed his way, however, so he’s surprised when instead the colt - who introduces himself as Beowulf - takes the bait and speaks directly to Rayna, in complimentary tones. A smile of satisfaction curves Braemar’s ashy lips, and he watches the interaction between the two young things without comment.
But then, alas, the questions do finally come. Braemar tilts his head as Beowulf addresses him, and his smirk dissolves into a quizzical expression. Rayna beats him to the punch, however, and Braemar can hardly wait until she has finished speaking to deliver his retort. “I’m a little old for ‘er, lad! I dinnae think she wants some aul fart like meself hanging round when she can ‘ave a nice fresh catcha like yersel. Anyway, consider me split like a cracked ‘oof. I’m just gonnae…”
Braemar jerks his head to the side to indicate his intentions, then overdramatically side-steps a short distance away, offering the pair a last flashy smile. “If ya need me, just holler!” he shouts over his shoulder as he retreats into the trees, his silver tail trailing after him like a shining banner.
5; highland pony; dapple gray; 14.0hh |
