Word Count » 3+
The man walked at his heels, large bulk hunched somewhat. If Sirius noticed, he did not remark on it - Their rankings had been fastened that day on the mountain, when bearclaw had taken his tail, and almost his life. Something as secure as stone had been fashioned between the two men, that day; A chemical understanding, a balance that lingered in the primate heritage of their blood as much as it did in the wakeful mind.
It was perhaps because of this that Sirius trusted Larkspur, almost implicitly. Not many could aim for such a feat from the Thistle King, who dwelled often in the depths of his own suspicion and paranoia. Trusted friends were far and few between. But the ebony D'Angelo male, although physically well capable of defeating the leaner monarch, had accepted his place as submissive. There was something about the Revlis man capable of such a thing - Something only seen in the sheer genius of his acidic olive eyes, the strange feralness to that wicked Cheshire smile.
Larkspur slid past him at the entrance to the barn, and Sirius watched with curious eyes as the man spoke, his guttural tone affirming what the King had already suspected. The D'Angelo's size and sheer menace alone would have played him well with the merchants at Freetown, and there was little doubt within Sirius that the prize he had returned with was far better than the mare he had departed with.
The horse was led out, paraded on halter before sharp olive gaze. It shimmered silver in places, with lightly gilded mane and tail glossy from an expert grooming. Unable to resist, the dark man stepped closer to the beautiful mare, running the clawed fingers of one hand over the beast's glossy neck and shoulder. "You've done exceptionally," His voice was almost a croon, narrowed pupils taking in all details of the animal. Although not as knowing in horsemanship as Larkspur, Sirius was no fool, and he could recognize handsome horseflesh when it was provided. The cheeping bag, previously clutched as though it held gold, was cautiously held out towards the salt and pepper male. "Hold this," His voice was clipped, resonants of that similar warning bubbling within it. The contents of the bag were clearly very valuable to the Thistle King, but he wished to take the mare's halter and lead her around, and could not do so without temporarily relinquishing it.
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