The grullo stallion was apparently the only one on this island not living on the shores of Atlantis. The Ridge seemed to be the heart of the island, which felt fitting seeing as he'd recently claimed the crown. Slipping off his high perch, the lightening marked stallion left rock and slipped into golden sand, something that told him he'd left his rainy abode behind. Nose lifted in the air, nostrils widened and took in the scents of multiple stallions. Surely the land had been fought over recently, but there was one stink that stuck out more than the rest and he assumed that this was the lead. Parting his maw he gave a call, a "Ding dong, avon calling!" sort of call before he climbed over a dune and the coffee-pelted brute came into view.
"Hello there!" he called out, submissive in his land. There was nothing threatening about his body language or voice. The aralusian was the picture of friendly.
Aralusian | Grullo (EE aa Dd) | 15 hh | Five | Fuchs
|