It never was so cold between us

Strelein von Rosnete · 01-01-2012, 11:37 PM

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Look at it go! like a hurricane of rose petals

The cold wind ruffled through his thick red mane. His clawed fingers ran through it to separated tangled strands and all he got in return were even curlier waves and a stinging scalp. Grumbling at his self-inflicted pain, Strel leaned against the fence as the wind picked at his clothing like a child with grubby, sticky fingers. Settling his scarf securely in his vest, the redheaded man stared at the interior of the territory, looking for a single glimmer of movement so he could cease being bored out of his miserable mind. The smell of horse distracted him. It was faint on the wind but it was getting stronger as he waited. It was hard to discern if there was someone mounted on that horse, as the smell of the Tribe was thick at the borders. But the tribesman's smell grew stronger as they approached the fence.

Perking up, the redheaded man watched and waited for the figure to appear. When they did, he stepped away from the fence lightly and readjusted all of his clothes in something of a fit. His hair was a mess from the wind, but it was not something he could remedy without comb and reflective surface. So he straightened his back as the person mounted on the horse approached and came into viewing distance. From where Strel was, he could see the jacket and scent told him it was male. Granted, the figure was not the most masculine of figures, but he was not one to talk. He was pretty curvy for a man, especially as thin as he was.

Strelein had never met this person before, though they smiled at him and the redhead shot one right back at the stranger with practiced ease. It curled on his lips in a familiar fashion and he nodded his head to the other man. "Hello, stranger." Lavender eyes peered at the stranger, now close enough to see properly. Definitely male, and of a terribly pale color. "I am Strelein, Dauphin of the Court," he announced proudly, though none of his tone hinted at arrogance at his station and fortune of rank. "I come with a gift or two for the Tribe, since I know gifts are welcome wherever they are offered if they're offered with good intent." Strel gestured at his shoulder where the strap of the pack looped around his side. With a bounce, the pack lifted and slipped down his arm into his waiting hand. It was hefted to show the man on horse that he meant what he said. "I'm sure leather and alcohol are welcome, for all reasons."

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