Kendry likes the smile that brightens the spotted stallion’s face, and the positive response to his offered camaraderie. He grew up in the Prairie, a wide sunny plain that was more or less empty. It was just Marlena and him for a long time— there was a band stallion, but Kendry can’t even remember his name and the physical details are even becoming fuzzy. He never knew his father. This, he thins, is what has drawn him to the Lagoon and the idea of a brotherhood: he’s always had a strong familial tie with his mother and he longs to experience that bond with other males, having never kept any real company with them before.
His ears twitch in surprise when the stallion introduces himself. He wasn’t expecting that, not that he could say what it is he did expect. “Hm,” he says, still teasing, “Scared of what I might call you?” Kendry doesn’t think his name really means anything, but Indian Hemp sounds loaded. It’s certainly different; he’s never met anyone with two words for a name. “Kidding. That’s cool. Indian Hemp. Hm,” he says again, more thoughtfully this time.
“Yes,” he agrees when the spotted stallion suggests they head to the Lagoon. He turns to lead the way, so eager that he has to remind himself every few steps to slow down and keep pace with the older stallion. His own eyes are a bright, clear blue —he’s seen his own reflection, so much more than other horse’s that he’s sick of his own face every time he leans down to drink— but the pale color that clouds Indian Hemp’s eyes is a marker of failing sight. Kendry, young and youthful and still not truly aware that someday he’ll die, can’t imagine not being able to see. For his companion’s sake, then, he tries to set a pace that won’t insult Indian Hemp or accidentally leave him behind.
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