Kendry watches the boy only for a moment longer after inviting him into the field, understanding that a critical audience may not be the best received as the yearling makes up his mind. He lets his pale head drop back to the grass and resumes his breakfast, aware of but not focused on the boy as he moves slowly further into the field and, finally, joins Kendry at grazing. For a time this is all that is between them: the soft tearing of grass from the earth, the increasing titters and chirps of birds as the morning strengthens, and the scuff and thud of hooves as the two horses browse.
Finally, Kendry raises his head and exhales contentedly before his blue gaze falls back on the boy. He’s young yet, probably not long gone from his mother’s hip, though he certainly carries himself as if he’s comfortable being independent. Cautious yes, but not fearful. A shallow inhale pulls in the scent of salt and seawater and Kendry figures this kid isn’t from the Lagoon or the Peak, but rather hails from one of the islands ringing this one. “First time on the Crossing?” he asks.
Last time Kendry was here, he didn’t have much interest or reason to pay attention to things like lineages and living situations beyond “where can I obtain who I want, and who might react poorly when I do,” but he’s a little older now, maybe a little wiser, and there’s an idea forming somewhere deep within him. Something a little more deliberate than living day-to-day with no care for the morrow. “I’m Kendry,” he introduces himself, “of the Lagoon.” |