08-30-2016, 09:27 AM
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?”
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?”