Ever since his ill-planned and dramatically welcomed birth into the world, the stallion had never had the pleasure of being able to sit back and relax. More often than not, as his body language suggested to the untrained eye that he was beginning to recline and find a comfort zone, it was all a curious ploy in which Vercingetorix was appearing to be at ease in order to set someone else at ease. He had always been like this- for as long as he could remember.

Of course, there had been some days when he had allowed himself the simple delight of laying back in the grass and letting the clouds pass by as though he had not a care in the world, but those days were few and far inbetween.

The red dun has a serious edge to him, and it suits the hard lines of his body; from the stern look that had planted itself on his face to the almost prim way that he kept himself clean and free of bugs, twigs, and mud. It was obvious that this was not a stallion that was known to crack jovial smiles and spread happiness throughout the land. He merely existed, and with him existed a small and barely noticable cloud of gloom that hung over his head. Interpreting what could have been a joke as a casually worded promise to fraternize with and run away with the population of the fore, Vercingetorix now twists his ears backwards fully, resting them downwards against his mane. The motion was that of the unamused sort, just to show Boomslang that there was little that he found funny about strange stallions frolicking about his grasses and trees without a second whim.

“And what does that mean?” His voice still retains that cool air, but does not have the same air of attempted friendliness as before. Vercingetorix is almost certain that the other male is commenting on his lack of timely reaction to his presence in the forest, and takes insult from the words. Shifting his weight once more, he stands squarely on all four feet again, staring down his unmarked nose at the man of the grasses.

As Boomslang continues on with his words, admitting that he was not the sort to drag a woman kicking and screaming into the confines of the savanna, Vercingetorix finds that he has formulated an idea of what kind of a man this is. Either he is a mild-mannered gentleman that is still a little wet behind the ears and uncertain of the proper etiquette of entering another man's home that would much rather woo a woman with kind words before abducting her, or he is a damn good liar. Shifting ears forward once more, he shows that the other stallion has his full attention now, his narrowed eyes a sign of suspicion and deep thought. He had yet to come to a conclusion of what type of a person Boomslang was, and was still bordering on holding a somewhat neutral opinion.

The idea of letting the light-hearted stallion run about his home willy-nilly was not entirely appetizing to the Stallion of the Trees, and he quirks one side of his lips in subtle disagreement. “I hope you don't mind me saying this, Boomslang...” He takes a pause to carefully read the other stallion's face. “... I think that I would like to know you better before letting you gallivant around the forest.” Right now, the idea made him a little sick to the stomach, to think that he could be so careless as to let a complete stranger run through the trees where there were women and children that relied on him for him safety. Right now, he was not sure. “Right now, I don't think it's a good idea.” These words hold a sort of promise hinting that the dun stallion would be willing to becom acquiantances or even friends one day, but it would be a very long journey before Vercingetorix could fully trust the stranger.