Knock, knock; Any

[Errant]

He catches the wish before he’s even seen the boy (but with the blowing snow, that’s only a few dozen yards away). It’s an easy enough thing to do, even if it might cause some sudden weariness in Yronwood as the energy it takes to grow a winter coat is expended in the time between heartbeats. Errant emerges from the falling snow fairly quickly after that, shaking the snowflakes away from his eyes as best he can.

“Hello,” He says, looking over the red and black colt. Errant doesn’t know him, but the odds that a horse so closely resembling the brother in Kratos’ memories is not a grandson or great-grandson of his seems unlikely. There are ways to be sure, but they are not branches of magic that Errant has bothered with. He will find out in time, he’s sure; perhaps the boy will even volunteer the information himself.

“I’m Errant. What brings you to the Tundra?” His voice is a soft tenor and his grey eyes are bright and curious. He’s not usually one to be especially gruff with strangers, especially not when strangers seem to be potential Brothers, as this one does.