He is hideous, more beast than equine. Pangea's king would not be the first (nor would he be the last) to instinctively recoil from the sight of Raelynx. His flesh is thick and charred, a mottled gray and black that reminds one too much of death (he should be dead, but He had not wanted it so). No hair (hair that should have been pure white) remains upon the gnarled flesh of his skin. He might have been a handsome beast were it not for his disfigurement. He is large and well-muscled (with the exception of the one piece missing from his shoulder). His bones are good, his frame solid. Before Him, he would have aged into a magnificent stallion of pure white, with the thick locks and well-proportioned build of his Friesian ancestry.
Alas, it is not to be. He instead is a monster, horribly deformed and bearing the mark of his creator upon the center of his brow for all the world to see.
He follows the path of the creature making its way towards him, far swifter than any normal horse could. He had not expected to go unnoticed. There is faint recognition, though the stallion who has stopped before him has changed. He is correct to surmise he does not recall his name either. Pollock had been unimportant when last they had met. Raelynx had had no need nor desire to remember anything about him. He does not bother retaining things he has no need of.
"Raelynx," he offers in his hoarse, rough voice. A voice destroyed long ago by smoke. "Who are you?"