Ak Burun snorts what might have been a laugh. "You mistake observation for concern," she informs the red stallion mildly. Her gaze flits away for a moment, eyeing the mist hovering at the base of the falls, before returning to him. What deities must he worship, she wonders, and how can she best utilize that information against him? The religious are always the most susceptible to manipulation. Even if their faith is mild.
"One must wonder, then, why the Gods seek to save you from yourself," she says, and though her tone is still rhetorical her eyes remain unwavering on his face. Then her gaze narrows, ears flicking out to the sides, turning almost—but not quite— back. "Or why you might be so keen on defying them." She sees a multi-faceted puzzle before her and already has begun walking metaphorical fingers over each side, seeking entry to the next piece.
It is movement nearby which draws her attention away from the red stallion, ears swiveling to catch the soft footfall of hooves on the snowy banks as her narrow head swings to bring this new arrival into view. A haggard creature, too-thin and potentially sickly, mutters in her language. Ak Burun’s pale lip curls in distaste. Haşarat, she thinks. No self-respecting ‘Teke would allow itself to look so diseased.
"Be wary," she warns the red stallion in a voice pitched for his ears alone. Then she lifts her head, ears pinning briefly as she calls to the skinny stallion standing apart: "Hasta mısın?" |