It was hardly difficult in any sense to read the man whom stood before him. Alexanders features shifting into a frown of sorts at the mere mention of those immortals- as if the word itself caused him some measure of displeasure. That often gruff man so rarely vocalised his true thoughts on any matter and yet Frost had come to realise he rarely had too. Subtle though those shifts in his demeanour were Alexander, he had had decided, had a distinct way of merely affording someone or something a specific type of look that near always seemed to indicate his thoughts on it all the same. It was, perhaps, the sheer amount of time he spent within the man's own mind during those rides that afforded him that simple understanding of his rider and yet he hardly made any move to comment upon it. Rather, his gaze simply remained upon him as he offered that further information from his own reconnaissance mission of sorts. Frost having been unable to get as close as he truly desired and yet he had managed to glean enough, surely, to afford them at least some ability to formulate a plan. After all, was it not these sorts of odds that Alexander was so infamous for turning to his favour? Was this not the Hunter's supposed great skill in life that had made him famous the world over in life and death? He hardly meant to pry so efficiently into Alexander's thoughts in that singular moment, that connection between them perhaps more potent then Frost cared to admit and yet that small trickle of thought seemed to find him all the same as Alexander considered the nature of those Were-creatures hitched to the rails within the forest. Frost's head shaking in answer to that unasked question. Those cool lyrics abruptly leaving his lips.

"They are Werehorses, yes, but Xerxes is not akin to treating them as such. He dislikes them being human or any reminder that they can be. He likes to remind them they belong to him. Darius, I suspect, has not been in his human form in years. Not all Hunters are like that, some have strong relationships with their mounts though most are simply indifferent to us, few are outwardly cruel but they exist still. It is the luck of the draw for us. We are disposable to men like Xerxes and the Council at large. Darius is his ninth horse. I was his eighth- the rest are dead."

His shoulders lifted in a shrug as if that was simply as it was. A truth he had accepted long ago. Those words offered bluntly and without any true emotion as if he had long since ceased to care for the predicament of his species and the life he had led prior to the night he quietly literally forced his way into Alexander's own. Frost hardly seeking any pity from the Hunter in response to those words. The stallion decidedly good at turning off his own emotions in an sense to merely offer those facts and nothing more as he fell into step behind the elder man to follow him up those stairs and into that personal loft. His own violet gaze drifted almost lazily over that small flat, the equine eyeing those few more personal possession of the man. That curious scent existing up here too and yet he hardly commented. Frost instead content to eye several of those pictures that adorned the walls while Alexander sought out that coat and boots he required. The stallion scowling briefly at that painted image of the black Bucephalus that had become near as famous as the hunter himself. A soft snort leaving him then as if he remained unimpressed by the animal in any sense- even if it had been Alexanders favourite.

His arms folded easily across his chest then, his form leaning in that doorway as he provided the rest of that information to the Hunter as he asked for it, Frost attempting to present those options his own mind had considered if only to assist in furthering Alexander's planning as best he could. Their lack of knowledge on just what affinities those Immortals held, let alone Xerxes or the majority of their horses, put them at a distinct disadvantage and yet by that same consideration- their enemy so hardly knew what they were capable of either. That query as to whether or not Alexander required some sort of saddle seemed to draw the Hunter from that internal consideration, the elder man's assurance they need limit that weight upon Frost's own back met with that simple nod in return. Frost near surprised he had felt any concern for Alexander at all. The stallion content to remind himself he simply required the Hunter for that victory alone and nothing more. Alexander seeing fit to remind him of his previous success without that saddle, that simper tugging at his own lips then, Frost having come to find amusement in those moments the Hunter spoke of those 'glory days' he was insistent were not over- even as he sipped his coffee and read a newspaper.

"Why the cat skin riding blanket then? Why bother with it at all, even all those years ago?"

His hand lifted, briefly, gesturing back to that painted portrait of that black stallion adorned in that leopard skin riding blanket that featured in near all of those pictures of the steed. Bucephalus a far more slender mount then Frost would ever be, that blanket perhaps adding some measure of comfort for Alexander upon such a narrow horse and yet, beyond that, Frost truly saw little purpose to it at all. That thin vein of curiosity clear before his attention refocused upon the Hunter at the beginnings of that plan. One eye lifting slightly at that mention of wildlife. It was...unique, if nothing else. That attempt to push Xerxes and his unit onto that field already clear to him. Attempting to engage Darius at a gallop rather than with that ability for teleportation was a bold plan and yet there logic to it. Frost content to....trust in Alexander tonight. The stallion holding more simple faith in Alexander then he had any other being in near the extent of his life- even if he hardly cared to mention it. That rain too, would surely add to that background noise that might further conceal their approach. His own head nodded in a clear acceptance of that plan.

"I will be glad to see the end of Darius- there is little love lost between us. As for getting dirty I am sure I can manage. If I can survive being coated in vampire blood in Siberia with you I can survive a little mud."

Still- how much dirt was Alexander anticipating? Frost affording him an almost wary look then before that gesture from the Hunter saw him turn to make his way back down those stairs, his fingers reaching for the buttons on his shirt as he did, that fabric shrugged off and tossed on an armchair as he passed. His shoes were near as effortlessly stepped out off and kicked to the side, Frost left in little more than his jeans then as his hand pressed to that door, the man stepping out and into that now slowly increasing rain. That shift came almost effortlessly to him, his slender, lithe figure replaced with that towering, muscular beast in a matter of moments, his hooves clopping against the cobblestone of the sidewalk as that rain already begun to darken his pale coat to grey. Frost waiting for Alexander to finish locking that café then, his good eye turned on to the man as that hand reached for his mane. Frost abruptly stepping sideways. The stallion not having played this particular 'game' with the Hunter in months. Those snowy white ears pricked forward in clear expectation of...something. Frost content to step sideways at any further attempt Alex made to reach his back, those ears pinned briefly backward in a moment of clear annoyance. His muzzle roughly shoving Alexander's jacket pocket before they pricked forward again. The stallion simply....waiting. Alexander always had one in his pocket. Always. Frost content to wait several more moments for the Hunter to at last reach into the pocket and produce that apple. The stallion reaching eagerly forward to take it from Alexander's hand. His foreleg at last lifting to offer the man that step-up and on to his back as he chewed that sweet fruit. Frost content to ignore any grumbling he might have been offered as Alexander stepped onto his leg and swung onto his back.

He waited then, for the Hunter to settle himself, that touch of heels to his side seeing the stallion obediently step forward. Frost having ceased, some months ago, to attempt to throw the man near every ride as had been his previous favoured game. Alexander never having managed to be unseated all the same. Frost near swearing the man had slipped once despite the Hunter's vehement denial of the fact. The press of those heels again saw that pace increase to that trot and at last that loping canter towards the forest. That rain almost chilling as his breath rose like smoke from his nostrils. Frost content to conserve his energy as best he could, the stallion hardly hurried, that forest a good hour's ride from here as it was. His pace slowed only once those trails that led into the depths of those trees were finally reached. Those paths prone to becoming narrower and narrower amongest those wet trees, the track ahead far darker then streets they had come from. Frost merely allowing both ears to rotate backward in that clear indication he was listening as he paused on that tree line. The war horse waiting for further instruction then, verbal or otherwise.

f r o s t
we built this city on broken glass