The perlino mare pressed her muzzle to his, allowing for her scent to twine about the male's senses and pull him in. The melodic timbre of humor in the pale beauty's voice soothed him. Every day that Daffodil had been gone seemed to prove some inner fear, hammering home every night that she took the opportunity to run because she did not care about him-- that he was not worthy of such affection. For this more or less stranger to smile at him and not run, to have her press against his side and stay there was a heady relief.
Alioth's dark lips whispered upward against the creamy gold swath of her neck. He considered Chimeras' question for a long moment and found that he didn't quite have a specific answer. They had met by chance, thrust together in the waning days of autumn. Would it be considered more romantic for him to weave a tale of seeing her and following her, arranging their meeting? Was that what she wanted? Alioth was no great romantic, no teller of tales, and so decided against elaborating on some ruse.
"I can only thank luck or fate that we met, Chimeras," he murmured against her throat before pulling away. His brown eyes focused upon her, careful to watch for any little signs from her body language. "Does it displease you to have so simple an answer?" Some mares, he knows, want more grandiose adulations. It was possible that she was one of them.