The sand lifts and rises with each small gust of wind, swirling intricate patterns on the surface that keep his attentions for a time. Vidar can’t get over how different this place is than his home. Mother had told him everything she knew about the deserts, but firsthand knowledge does not trickle down so readily; nothing could have prepared him for the vast emptiness of this new land. No words could have done justice to the way the light is swallowed up by the undulating lay of the dunes, shining them golden. No explanation could have satisfied his curiosity for the absence of trees when he had grown up nearly choked by them. Only standing here, now, does he realize the enormity of his decision.
Even with her muffled-by-the-sand footsteps and as mesmerized by the shifting grounds as he is, the blue stallion’s head immediately lifts when the stranger approaches. The same lack of trees makes it all too easy to spot advances (instantly, he worries for the defense of the kingdom – how do they combat their major vulnerability?). And her stark white coat only compromises her stealth further. Vidar doubts she is really worried about her safety in her own home. His mind simply cannot help but meet with strategy before all else.
As it turns out, her mind seems similarly occupied by safety. She is blunt and quick in her greeting, neither saying more than she needs to nor giving her name. Understandable. He imagines if the roles were reversed and a thick, muscled man stood at the doorway of the Jungle he would be on the offensive as well. Of course, he would have the backing (more like the fronting) of the entire Sisterhood on his next breath. Not exactly a force any foreigner would stand a chance against. This mare, however, seems to be quite alone.
Still, he’s never been foolish enough to underestimate a woman – or her changing moods.
“Ma’am,” he says, dipping his head slowly in greeting. When he looks up again, he notices how her eyes seem to linger below his own, not meeting them but instead focusing on his throat. He wonders if her bluntness comes from a place of introversion; perhaps she’s too shy to keep his gaze. “I’m Vidar, from the Jungle.” And surely the scent of jasmine and frangipani still clings to his mane, wafting in the dry air between them, a testament and proof of his origins. Soon, they too will leave him. All he will have is the heat baking the land to remind him of a childhood spent elsewhere.
The roan offers the pale woman a slow smile as he regards her. This might be home now and she his comrade. Best start making connections when the opportunity arises. And as far as company goes, there is something about this one in particular that strikes him; a quiet ferocity lingers behind eyes that flash too quickly away from his own. “I’ve come as a boon from your ally but also as a man in search of his place in the world. Perhaps you can tell me more, show me around?” He leaves a space after his question, hoping she will fill it with her name.
Vidar