(331) Out of character here.
Lineart by *Nanarc; colored by me!
The young woman explained that the horses belonged to a wolf in another pack, and that she was taking care of them instead. His ears came up in interest at that, and he glanced at the pair of horses in a new light. The foal couldn't have been more than a few months old; likely the former owner hadn't seen the colt since it was a bulge in its mother's belly, if they'd even been aware of it. After his short appraisal, he smiled again. That's very kind of you, he said warmly, thinking of the neglected gelding he'd rescued. He wondered if Umut had pulled out of his illness or if he was still living with the gypsies. Wondering was all he could really do, of course; dead or alive, the horse was on the other side of the ocean, something that Levent would never cross again.
He grinned and nodded after her introduction. Us newbies have to stick together, he proclaimed, the playful statement rendered awkward by his accent. Even though he was extremely fluent in English, some things he said just sounded funny.
Wilson meowed quickly and skittered away, probably heading to the stables to see if he could catch a mouse or two -- unlikely, if one took into account the odor of many other felines all around the pack. It seemed that a colony lived there, and Lev knew that Wilson would avoid those of his species at all costs. He watched his friend for only a moment before his blue eyes turned back to the girl's violet-tinged ones.
So what made you choose Cercatori d'Arte? the Turkish merchant asked, his voice casually curious. Place catch your artistic muse? He flashed his teeth teasingly. There were many painters and carvers in the pack, it seemed, although he knew that d'Arte focused on trade and offered other sensible career paths in the ranks. She could just as easily be a ranch hand or some other such thing.
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