Fell doesn’t make the pale, golden beast wait long. No sooner did his hoarse cry fill the frigid air did the sound of hooves falling on the chilly stone fill his ears. The Dreadstag is forced to move in a position that allows him to gaze upon the ebon stud; for his right eye is milky and useless, compared to the muddy green of his good eye.

His ears swivel back against the ivory tresses of his tattered mane, but this was not a gesture of aggression. Far from it, in fact. It was uncertainty... Which may have seemed unusual for a marauder like the Dreadstag. Most of his interactions with others were less than favorable. They were usually painful experiences, in fact. But the pain wasn’t something that the Dreadstag feared.

As Fell kept his respectful distance, it was now his turn to close the distance between them. His motion was not threatening, even if he was posturing himself in a way to seem stockier and bigger than he was, in all actuality. His voice filled the air in a baritone, which is thick with an accent that Fell would be more than familiar with. It was far too similar to his blue mare; in fact, her scent wasn’t terribly different from his, either… The only real difference being that her scent was entwined with Fell’s and the Bay, given that this was her home.

Dreadstag on the other hand, smelled of the sea. “ Ya have done well fer yerself, devil’ve Tinuvel’s Bay. “ he would say, before continuing and getting to the point of his visit, “ Fer once, I ain’t on yer shore to raise hell. “ He would swing his head, to point his ashy nose towards the females that had accompanied him. It was during this motion that Fell may have caught a glimpse of the grisly battle scars that ran down his face, over his blind eye; he’d contended with a predator of some sort…

One was a lovely red dun, with minimal marks upon her body, and the other was a tobiano dunskin who wore more white than she did pigmented fur. They looked roughly about the same age.

Dreadstag’s attention settled back upon Fell. “ These are my daughters, born from the women of the isles. “ he rumbled. “ One in the Crossing, and another from Luthien. “ he replied. “ I cannot give them the herd they deserve, and I am not about to leave their fates to the winds. “ he replies. “ Ye have my niece under yer rule. N’ I’ve been watchin’ ye with a keen eye. “ he mused, “ She is fat, happy, and ye proved to be ferociously protective of yer women, and I can still feel the echo of yer punishing bite. My daughters deserve nothing less. “

He would suddenly shift his weight, and that is when Fell may recognize just how worn and tired this rogue is; he’s not unhealthy, but he’s clearly much older than he may have initially appeared to be. “ Choose one. “ he finally revealed.

It was clear that they heard their sire.. For both were huddled and curiously observing the exchange with pointed ears.