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[Errant]

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth He’s not been to the Field in some time, but the path beneath his hooves is a familiar one. He had recruited in his youth, finding men with the potential to strengthen the brotherhood and spreading the word of his father’s kingdom. The kingdom is his now (again?), and he feels the same sense of responsibility, though the pressure to grow is not so heavy. Errant is in no hurry to find a potential someone, but his grey gaze as he look out over the homeless in the field is still curious. There is a lone stallion, but his gender alone is not enough to intrigue Errant. There are a plethora of other variables to consider, none of which can be measured by sight alone, and so Errant approaches. As is common in the Field, someone is there first, greeting the bay stallion with a nod and an introduction. Her winter coat – it is a she, Errant notes as he steps forward – indicates a home in the mountains, and the smell of pine and ash identifies her as a resident of the Chamber even before she says her name. “I’m Errant,” he says, both to the mare as well as to the stallion, shaking his dark mane out of his eyes as he does so. “From the Tudnra.” Straia has already asked for the man’s name so Errant says nothing else, waiting for a reply. No sense rushing, after all, not when he has all day. The cold is not a hindrance too him; his shaggy black coat is thicker even than Straia’s, the result of a lifetime spent in the far north. e r r a n t no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her