Common

Ask a question, get an answer. Nahawi liked how that worked most of the time and in this instance, it fell to the side of his pleasure. Looking the blue roan stallion over, Nahawi searched for many things. Nothing gave off alarm bells to the red dun, but at the same time he was staring at someone who wasn't near as blemished as he was. Usually he found it in mares and foals, but seeing it on a stallion again made his hair prickle. What kind of life… did Nahawi have to live to avoid gaining more scars? To have kept his sight? The questions swirled, but the voice of this man filled his ears and allowed him free of the musical merry go round of questions.

At the question directed at himself, Nahawi flicked one ear forward finally. His red tipped ear quivered, as if it were trying to capture every syllable that had been spoke. His good eye swept up to the stallion's face. Scanning the blank slate in front of him. Nahawi wanted that, to look as unbothered as this man. However, the downturn twist of his lips, the pinch of his nostrils, and the wrinkles to his eyes showed an intimate taste of displeasure. It wasn't exactly aimed at the man before him, but it was well felt and very well true. He had faced more than he ever should of and finally the good had been broken and barely spun on its record player.

”Me? I've come in search of another.” Nahawi didn't specify that answer in any direction, but his body language spoke just loud enough. Still bristling, still angry, it almost screamed. He needed a companion, one that wouldn't barb at him or ask him to speak all the time. He needed companionable silence to just enjoy and someone to search for. With none of his family on the Ruins, Nahawi needed someone to take into his circle and in a sense, care for. He wasn't all bad, but he wasn't trying to be a knight anymore either. The horses he left behind… he'd find them again if he so ever dared.

Licking his lips, the beat up stallion shed some of his frustration. His body eased a touch, his head lifting up and letting his forelock remove itself for a moment. The blown out pupil, the milky texture, and the ever watering thing called his eye was on display as his forelock rested upon the bridge of his nose. Tossing the strands back with a flinch, Nahawi shook his head. “I am Nahawi.” His name, that was all he spoke for a moment before his head dipped. ”May I ask your name, stranger?” Still his intent was to claim, but for this almost pause in time, Nahawi did not push the stallion to the sea and guide him to the Ruins.