[Dirk finds her all right--a purple wisp of smoke, cut with yellow zig zags and luminous green orbs. A mardi gras themed fart.
So he sees her, and lifts his head a little higher--ostensibly to see her better, but it's really more of a short acknowledgement, an equine 'sup.'
But. Uh. She's... talking. Which, good for her. Making sounds with her mouth and combining those sounds to a greater whole, which he, as a fellow sentient creature, perceives to have meaning. Great job.
Except he's a horse.
Horses can't fucking talk. He could start tapping out morse code, go all Clever Hans on this shit. He doesn't really want to, though. It'd take forever and he has places to be.
So he snorts loudly instead, hot breath even hotter from the raging inferno that burns inside his regal chest.
no subject
So he sees her, and lifts his head a little higher--ostensibly to see her better, but it's really more of a short acknowledgement, an equine 'sup.'
But. Uh. She's... talking. Which, good for her. Making sounds with her mouth and combining those sounds to a greater whole, which he, as a fellow sentient creature, perceives to have meaning. Great job.
Except he's a horse.
Horses can't fucking talk. He could start tapping out morse code, go all Clever Hans on this shit. He doesn't really want to, though. It'd take forever and he has places to be.
So he snorts loudly instead, hot breath even hotter from the raging inferno that burns inside his regal chest.
Yeah. Nailed it.]