Her voice is as soothing as the warm summer breeze brushing his cheek. Kestral opens his eyes with a flutter of white lashes, and there stands the mare, a wonder to match his own written across her face. "I have." Kestral answers, his tone barely above a whisper.

The build of a cob is steadfast and sturdy as the mountains at his back. In the darkness of her coat is the same darkness that bestowed upon him, the gift of sight. As the sun must set in order to rise, the apparent contrast in their appearances, makes appreciation of the other possible.

"I'm Kestral. Welcome to the Peak." The stallion inclines his head as a gesture of respect, and graciously welcomes her to this place. This mare does not have the tired, unappreciative eyes of someone who's seen this land before. She smells of a world beyond these islands. Someone should welcome her here, and who better to do it than Kestral? And in offering his name, he hopes to hear hers in return.

A familiar shadow makes another pass over the meadow. The moment of silence is over. The harsh cry of the hawk rings out, echoing off the mountainside. Kestral casts his eyes skyward, and his lips part in answering call. Keen swoops low, the beat of her wings so close to stir the mane against kestral's neck, and brush the backs of his ears.

The spotted stallions returns his focus to the mare, as the form of keen drifts off into the trees behind her. His ears flicker, still feeling the touch of Keen's wings.