Two calls: one sharp and masculine, one softer and feminine.

Even without fully recognizing the first, Encantador guesses who its master might be, and he hesitates little before erupting into a brisk trot across the sands. The second call has confused him, however; thus, as he crests the last dune, hooves sliding in the sand, and looks down on the flat expanse of the earthy coastal region of his home, he pauses.

Suddenly, off to his right, there is another call: far closer and more familiar. The dunskin male's head whips around only to catch sight of none other than his loyal gamma, Razvan, perched on the very same dune, much as he is now, just a short distance away. Encantador emits a low nicker of greeting to the roan, but makes no move to come closer, instead watching him as if hoping to catch his eye with a knowing look.

Then, presuming that Razvan will follow, he begins the slippery descent down the dune, his dark tail flagged to aid his balance. Once on the flat, baked earth he strolls a little more briskly, though not so fast that his gamma would not be able to keep up. He approaches Debonaire first, eyeing the similarly-colored mare out of the corner of his gaze.
"Afternoon," he greets with a bob of his head, though his face is solemn and strained. "Good to see you again. Is she-" he motions with his nose, "-one of yours...?"