Careful steps needed to be minded when you walk on ice. A false judgement of soil or a doubt in your own character could lead you to a pitiful disaster. The pale silver gold stallion knew this first hand not soon after he had made his way into the tundra threshold. He was moving quite easily only to mistep and send his large frame sprawling. He attempts to find his feet and save himself from little embarassment affected him and looking around but there was no other equine in sight so no harm done.
With a shake, he dusts himself off and minds his steps now as he looks for another face in the chilled enviorment. Ragnar seeks such a place for his own well-being. The tundra suited his desires for excell. The cold lands drove his need to achieve and become great. These brothers here could teach him and guide him without distractions.
A low call is given when he scents other equines to announce his presence. It was only polite to do so. "Hello." Not a question but a greeting to possibly unseen bodies. His vocals light and clipped with each pronunciation of the syllables due to his nordic accent. Silver threads of the male's mane catch a cool kiss from the winter winds and drive a clot of hair across the visage of the stallion. Ears movin to catch sounds of others that would hopefully greet him civilly.