It was with a certain measure of disbelief that Frost continued to eye that feathered white wing. The stallion, for several moments, was merely content to stare at that appendage Alexander had directed his gaze toward. Any fear he had felt over those wings had managed to die entirely as that distinctly human part of his mind analysed this newest...ability. If it could truly be called such a thing. Those wings were heavy. The muscles and bone that attached them to his back were new, untested and truly- Frost had little idea how to maneuver them at all. It was the distinct pain within one of those wings however that seemed to garner most of his attention. It was hardly difficult to spot the bright scarlett blood that marred those otherwise snowy feathers. That he had only sustained one injury in that fall was, perhaps, miraculous in itself and yet the stallion could hardly ignore that aching sensation upon a part of his body that had- until moments ago- not existed at all. Alexander slid smoothly from his back. The Hunter moved to stand several steps back from him in his own examination before commenting upon the saddle's new and rather...uncomfortable position. The shift in the War Horses physique had seen that saddle shift. That piece of riding equipment distinctly unsuited for a winged animal and yet, until that moment, Frost had near forgotten it entirely.
The equine shifted just so as if to test at that saddle. Even that slight movement seemed to prompt a rather uncomfortable rubbing of the girth strap agianst the wing joint. A potent sore sure to develop within an hour or two. Frost's very mention of that discomfort seemed to prompt some measure of thought within his companion before Alexander suggested the use of cloth between the leather and his side. Just where Alexander anticipated they might find any such cloth however Frost hardly knew, the Hunter afforded a new dubious glance before he announced that intention to look at his wing. Alexander was, perhaps, the single and only being Frost deemed....acceptable to stand upon his blind side. Those veritable years of trust between the pair so assuring the equine hardly felt any threat at the hunters presence and yet that wing was nothing short of sore. Frost's ears swiveled neatly atop his head. The stallion content to keep track of his companion all the same before Alexander's hands found that feathered appendage. The Hunter's touch was nothing short of gentle and yet Frost could hardly prevent that near instinctive jerk of that wing all the same. Alexander's soft shushing seemed to coax some measure of contentment from the horse. Frost allowed him to examine that wing before the elder man announced the wound was hardly....terrible and yet it was perhaps too much to allow the wing to be useful all at once. Whatever thoughts Frost had so begun to contemplate in regards to that injury were abruptly halted by the Hunters insistence he transfer that wound to him.
Those words or argument were pressed directly to the Hunters mind and yet- Frost allowed them to die before they had truly found purchase. He was....loath to allow Alexander to suffer a wound at his own hands (or hooves really) and yet that plan was nothing short of sensible. Frost, despite himself, was nothing if not practical. Alexander was afforded a simple nod in response before the man stepped forward to rifle through those saddlebags in search of something to be used as cloth. Frost's insistence that wings were surely illegal in a foot race were met with the assurance Alexander intended to use them only to reach that mountain path above once more. Frost's gaze turned upward, is violet eyes roving the side of the mountain and treacherous cliff. The path appearing veritable miles above them. How very...bold of Alexander to believe him capable of flying over a fucking mountain when so far he had succeeded only in falling off of it. That very dubiousness lingered upon the tip of his tongue and yet- Frost found those words dying within his mind. How very much he...disliked the idea of admitting his own doubts to the Hunter. If Alexander believed him capable of it Frost was loath to prove otherwise. Indeed, that veritable challenge was one he found himself near...eager to take up. How determined he was that Alexander would one day forget Bucephalus- or in the very least- name Frost a far superior steed.
Frost's earlier dubiousness shifted instead toward those questions that lingered upon his mind. Alexander, as Frost had so eternally appreciated, answered each of those queries in turn. The very notion that Matteo had let them fall to their near deaths so seeming to be the most potent of those points. How very intriguing it would be to see the Fae set upon by his Father. The socks that Alexander had fished from within the saddle bag were quickly tied between the leather and the wing joint of his left side before Alexander removed to the right- his hand remaining agianst Frost's side in that assurance of where he was. A gesture so eternally appreciated even if Frost hardly made mention of it. The stallion so merely eyed those socks critically.
"No one is going to laugh at that at all."
That distinctly heavy sarcasm could so hardly be missed and yet truly, they had been laughed at since the moment they had arrived. This, Frost suspected, would hardly change that notion. It was Alexander's suggestion to feel for those wings however that drew the ivory steeds attention once more. Frost made a genuine effort, for the first time, to actually...move those appendages at his will. Alexander's suggestion that they should behave like his tail was met with a soft snort.
"My tail does not weigh eight million pounds. They are more...moveable then I anticipated though. The socks also work."
Both of those wings extended out at the equines command. Frost managed to extend and fold them back several times before that sudden flash of pain within the right one readily prompted him to draw it back once more. Alexander, he suspected, was correct. He could not fly with that damaged joint. The Hunter's insistence he was ready saw Frost's attention shift once more, that affinity for shifting wounds readily summoned. It was hardly difficult to do as Alexander asked and shift that wound from himself to his rider, his own shoulder rapidly healing as Alexanders was all but...torn apart. Frost near wincing at the idea even if Alexander seemed to do little more than flinch. Frost's muzzle extended forward to nuzzle agianst the Hunter's now wounded shoulder. That gesture nothing short of....affectionate, even if Frost was ill inclined to admit it- before his muzzle withdrew to himself once more. Working out his wings and removing them from this downpour was far more pressing. Frost took several steps back, his sodden hooves thudding wetly on the soaked ground before he spread his wings once more. Those appendages seemed to round slightly of their own accord, catching that updraft near instinctively. Flapping them, however, was another matter entirely.
They felt surprisingly....strong. His confidence within them grew ever so slightly before he managed, at last, to afford them a single, sweeping flap. Those large feathers brushed across the ground as he did. Hmmm. He needed more space. Frost eased back upon his haunches then, the stallion balanced precariously on his hind legs for a single moment before flapping those wings again. That rush of air sent directly toward Alexander in a veritable blast. The Hunter's hair sent thoroughly askew.
"Sorry. Let me try without you on my back first. Just...in case."
There was distinctly little room on that valley floor and yet, if he kept straight enough, Frost was certain he could extend those wings outward enough to get off the ground. The stallion shifted several feet back, Frost breaking into a trot to take himself to the far end of that valley and afford himself a veritable...runway before turning to face Alexander once more. How utterly....out of his mind he felt. A single snort to remove that rain from his nose was all the stallion offered before leaping forward, Frost quickly breaking into a gallop, those wings extended outward and near instantly caught the wind from that run. The first flap saw his hooves lift briefly, Frost content to leap that second time in the same moment as he stretched his wings again. Frost, this time, remaining above the ground. It took several more forceful, near frantic flaps and yet the stallion very quickly began to ascend upward and over his companion. Each flap took him higher and higher. Hmm.it was almost....fun. The notion of turning seemed to come near naturally, Frost extending that right wing outward, the left folding slightly as his body leaned to send him hurtling back around and toward that valley once more. Alexander little more than a veritable speck upon that ground below. Take off had been somewhat of a challenge, turning surprisingly easy, stopping mid-air was a task he was hardly willing to attempt here and now. Landing.....was another matter entirely.
Frost angled himself downward, the stallion gliding back towards Alexander now and yet, once more, he found himself going far to fast as he re-entered that valley. How in god's name did he break? The ground seemed to approach all-too quickly once more. Frost hardly assured how to land without breaking his own limbs. His hooves found that wet ground, Frost attempting to run to keep up with that speed at which he was landing. His hooves skidded upon that wet surface, the stallion careening across the ground once more before losing his footing and all but crashing.
"I'm fine, I'm fine."
He had landed very near upon his stomach, his legs splayed in all directions. His coat thoroughly sodden and mud streaked and yet the equine was, miraculously, distinctly unharmed as he lifted himself to his feet once more. Frost shook the water from himself then, the stallion stepping forward and toward his companion.
"Alright, I think I can manage it. Are you getting on?"
He probably wouldn't crash again. Probably. Maybe.