He wakes up, his bones and muscles creaking from a night spent pacing. He could not explain why he couldn't sleep, not even if he tried. Whenever he shut his eyes, there were spirits behind his lids, dancing and talking and jeering at him. traitor is what they whispered to him, although their words weren't facts, and they had no ground in reality. That didn't make the least bit of difference to them, though, and they remained there, laughing and laughing and laughing until he was sufficiently roused from his restful state, and sent to patrol the unfamiliar wasteland that was to be his home. Or rather, that was his home. He wondered when it would start to feel comfortable to him.
His ears twitch at voices relatively nearby, by the meltwater river that he must've passed at least three times last night. He stood for a moment, weighing his options. He figured he could walk by them and see what was going on at least. The closer he got, the more familiar the voice seemed - until it clicked - it was Maribel, the woman who had brought him here, the one who had made him laugh. The other was an unfamiliar stallion and the spotted man frowned and tilted his head until they both came into view. Unsurprisingly, the man was a stranger to him, and from the smell of him, a stranger to Maribel too.
Now, he was more than aware that he was a newcomer here himself, and not the most useful in diplomacy (he doubted that many horses would appreciate his... unique...communication style), but he could at least fill the role of watchful guardian, of an extra number to boost appearances. Or something. Mostly he was just being nosy.
"Hello," he says, offering this greeting to both Maribel and the stranger. "I'm Romek."
The spotted stallion noted the way that the other's eyes slid over the woman's frame, and he frowned a little. He was no stranger to the breeding season, having weathered over thirty of them himself (and participating only once) - it was impending now. Some men got a little hoofsy with it all, and that was one of the things that the spotted stallion couldn't stand. And he'd hate to make a rash judgement but Maribel didn't seem quite... well, didn't seem the type for all that. And if the worst came to the worst....
He moves beside her and as much as he dislikes contact, he reaches over to touch his nose to her shoulder, before turning to look at the other stallion. He wanted very much to say something to him about his manners, respect etc etc. But that would probably not be a very good idea. So he held his tongue (even though it burned).
His ears twitch at voices relatively nearby, by the meltwater river that he must've passed at least three times last night. He stood for a moment, weighing his options. He figured he could walk by them and see what was going on at least. The closer he got, the more familiar the voice seemed - until it clicked - it was Maribel, the woman who had brought him here, the one who had made him laugh. The other was an unfamiliar stallion and the spotted man frowned and tilted his head until they both came into view. Unsurprisingly, the man was a stranger to him, and from the smell of him, a stranger to Maribel too.
Now, he was more than aware that he was a newcomer here himself, and not the most useful in diplomacy (he doubted that many horses would appreciate his... unique...communication style), but he could at least fill the role of watchful guardian, of an extra number to boost appearances. Or something. Mostly he was just being nosy.
"Hello," he says, offering this greeting to both Maribel and the stranger. "I'm Romek."
The spotted stallion noted the way that the other's eyes slid over the woman's frame, and he frowned a little. He was no stranger to the breeding season, having weathered over thirty of them himself (and participating only once) - it was impending now. Some men got a little hoofsy with it all, and that was one of the things that the spotted stallion couldn't stand. And he'd hate to make a rash judgement but Maribel didn't seem quite... well, didn't seem the type for all that. And if the worst came to the worst....
He moves beside her and as much as he dislikes contact, he reaches over to touch his nose to her shoulder, before turning to look at the other stallion. He wanted very much to say something to him about his manners, respect etc etc. But that would probably not be a very good idea. So he held his tongue (even though it burned).