Steel glints through the hazy curtain which separates them, and the subtle humor drawing up one corner of his lip stretches his mouth into a thin smile before it disappears. So. Not out for an idle stroll, after all. Still, it remains to be seen what role this stallion plays— and to whom. There is calculated defense in the angle of that gaze, a guardedness that extends beyond the painted stallion as an individual. Işıksız recognizes it as an outsider, only. He has long ago abandoned such burdens.

Thus, he believes himself to be without vulnerability.

Snow collects in his sparse mane and begins to lay a blanket down the length of his back. One ear tips outward, but they are still the only two creatures who have chosen to navigate this storm. Other than their staggered breaths and the soft pelt of snow against snow against pelt, the world beyond their dark little dome is quiet. "Call me Işık," he replies, settling his hooves more firmly in the snow mounding around his feet, shrugging off that transient moniker before it even has time to frost his coat. "And I want what I want, when I want it. Such is the appeal of bachelorhood, no? That freedom to... pursue, unobstructed," he adds, pausing only briefly in search of the right word.

The snow falls steadily, still, but it has begun to slow, and the curtain hazing the space between them falls in tatters, great wide gaps through which one can clearly see the other. Işıksız studies the tobiano and shudders his coat free of the cold. Distantly, the sky begins to gray.