up on the sun looking sad and beautiful; herds

[Senneth]

up on the sun looking sad and beautiful She alone in the winter winds. The shutter against the cold is evident in her walk. Blessedly the snow was not deep but the ice could prove tragic to the buckskin mare.  She moves delicately as she picks her way through the frozen wastelands that were so vibrant in spring. Nostrils widen as she scents the land when her hooves finally find a bit of firm ground. Some distance off were a few horses chatting, using the weather for warmth. Senneth looks elsewhere for other potential options. Limbs finally tug her along to take some shelter from the chill amongst the furry limbs of a few conifer trees. Senneth

[mandan]

Winter has come to his country; it blows cold and snowy through his canyons until it reaches the oasis. The more temperate clime of the oasis stops the cold dead in its tracks - here, it stays mild and sweet, almost citrusy in scent, but he leaves this beautiful sanctuary because it is too quiet. Feyre and Xero come and go as they please; he does not stop from travelling the badlands, but he will halt any attempt to permanently leave unless they’ve secured his consent. Alas, the quiet gets to him and he takes off from his beautifully rugged country to seek out more to add to his herd’s paltry ranks.

Naturally he comes to the field, gripped in a tight fist of snow and glittering ice. His black eyes cast about for a mare that is not already swarmed by stallions and those from the governing kingdoms. Nothing; he is not entirely disappointed nor surprised that there isn’t much to pick from - the field has its moments where even it suffers from a lack of new blood. Out of the corner of the eye, he sees a few conifers shaking from the passage of what he suspects was easily a horse. Who chooses the trees over their own kind? He is faintly curious as to why she hides herself away from them if she is in need of a home.

He trails her - it is easy to do, she has left tracks in the snow and it is these that he follows.
The bay stallion pokes his head in the conifers, his addax horns tangling in the furry boughs as he looks at her. She is a rather lovely buckskin… “Why are you hiding?”

[Johnathen]

Johnathen walked solemly into the field, still dazed over Becca truely being gone. He feels broken, like a million shards of ice. He gives a small snort when he sees a frozen puddle. He soon realizes the ground is icey, only bacause he nearly fell. Quickly, he recovers himself. His mind reels in, focusing more on his walking. He can sense eyes watching. Perhaps it's nothing.

He looks around, but sees no one. He walks over to a snow drift, and plays in it. After a while, Johnathen glimpses a mare and a bay stallion. At this point, his steel gray back is deep into the drift, limbs everywhere, and his white belly exposed to all. Embarrased, he gets up.
"I'm sorry, that was terribly-" he pauses, looking twords the sky, searching for the word, "So terribly immature of me."

As he waits for an answer, he studdies the mare. Her features look young, he'd guess around 3. Her neck arched elegantly, black and white mane laying gently along it's arc. Her buckskin coat had a lavender line aling her spine. He took note of her, absorbed her features, everything. He remembered his manners.

"My deepest apologies, Madam. I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Johnathen, resident of Heaven's Gates, though I look forward to having my own herd one day."