Vadar
Seven characteristics are in an uncultivated person, and seven in a learned one
Everything around him feels and looks soft. Each blade of grass round, the leaves on their branches a hazy blur as they bob in a comfortable breeze. The air he sucks in through his black nose is laced with some sort of pleasant aroma. He looks out into the mingling crowd through eyes that are covered by a literal mask-shaped marking: silver filigree loops bending and twisting to disguise an otherwise emotionless stare.
Hardly believing it possible, the wanderer had come along at the news of this party to see if his true identity could really be concealed or not. Curiosity, more than anything. A passing fancy that had been satisfied as soon as he stepped through those sweeping arches.
Clever, he thought of himself when given the opportunity to glance at his own reflection like he saw others doing. Same build and height, same mane and tail though both were streaked through with bright, glowing streaks of red. His white markings changed to just the silver mask, his eyes dimmed and turned to molten pewter. Down his throat and covering his chest an overlapping of hard, medium-sized scales had settled like plates on his skin. They were silver too. And to top the look off a brilliant splash of red and silver filigree covered his backside like an artist’s-made marking.
Vadar was impressed.
Now he mingled, approached an antlered mare who seemed to eye him warmly enough when he did so, and replied “Even if I did, I think I'd keep the secret.” He smirked, lowering his deep bass to a near whisper. “Should we guess each other anyways?”