He watches the mare through the silvery sheets of rain, his inky gaze curious. She is entirely black, a coat color he is familiar with — everyone he had ever met in his homeland was either black or close to it. Val himself is almost entirely black, what little gold had been showing through his thickening and darkening coat turned several shades darker by the rain. A few glistening dapples still show on his cheeks and the dip of his flank, but otherwise, Valefar is solidly black.
He tries for a while to puzzle out what she’s doing here. He knows he can’t observe much beyond surface-level feelings and perhaps the trajectory of her cutting gaze, but it’s amusing to guess. Eventually, though, he gives up, because he wants to know her beyond her defensive posture and perpetually rear-facing ears.
Valefar is not yet in a position to be inviting anyone home with him, let alone lay a claim on a lone mare, but forcing had never been his style anyway. He slinks towards the black mare, not bothering to appear very casual as ‘nonchalant’ and ‘slinking’ are rather incompatible. He hopes she does not take his posture to be especially slimy, but he doesn’t expect her to know that he is drastically unaccustomed to water falling from the sky in any capacity, so he tries to balance it out with a sheepish grin as he halts a few steps away. His sodden tail swings dejectedly at his heels, and he dips his head briefly to wipe his dripping forelock out of his eyes.
Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it? he says, his voice honeyed with sarcasm. He blinks rapidly, unable to adjust to the moisture. It makes for a ridiculous sight, he’s sure. It makes me want to positively frolick.