One man's trash

Tyrian fixed fascinated eyes on the captive as he was yanked into the light. He was an intriguing creature for sure and that intrigue wasn't limited to the ivory horns nestled between his ears. The young king's keen eyes noted the duel characteristics that were at odds with one another. On the one hand the youth bore the telltale signs of albinism. He had the pink skin, pale, nearly colorless eyes and a largely white coat. Emphasis on the 'largely' part because on the other hand, the colorful patches that marred his white coat were about as far from albinistic as markings could get. If nothing else the captive was nice to look at.

Prettiness was not why Tyrian had come, though. He wanted a worker, not living art. After glancing at Eligos he asked, "May I?" Perhaps he should have waited, but he anticipated no push back - why shouldn't he examine something he was potentially going to buy? - so he stepped closer and walked a slow half circle around Erystotle. He boasted a naturally slim build that hinted at an unsuitability for rigorous physical work. Speed then would be his asset, which would be useful in tending to sheep. The horns too could be used to keep them in line. He was interested.

"Looks a bit sick," he hedged before starting with a low offer. "I'll give you...a fattened lamb for him."