He is mildly disappointed when the white-faced stallion cannot aid his search, but also not surprised. “I knew it was a long shot,” Kendry says with a shrug. His eyes linger on the other man’s wounds, and he wonders if it is the way of a band stallion to be continuously under fire. In the past such a role has never appealed to him, but now? He looks to the mountain range in the distance. A land of his own, and a family within it, is becoming increasingly appealing.
His eyes shift back to the other and he wonders if his own blue gaze is as intense. “I’m Kendry,” he introduces himself with a nod. “She lived here only briefly, as I recall. It was a long time ago,” he says. “Marlena’s my mother.” He thinks of her wistfully. It would be nice to see her again, and not only because she’s his dam but because lately he’s been craving the presence of anyone familiar to him— and coming to realize how very few horses he calls “friend” on these islands. For a long time Marlena was the only one, but then there was Psych. Interestingly, he feels no similar urge to go hunt the older bachelor down.
“Thank you, Björn. That is at least a little bit of peace for me.” Kendry nods to the wound on the compact stallion’s ribs. “Though it looks like you could use a little peace yourself. Where’d you pick that up?” He is endlessly curious about life as a band stallion. To him it represents order, structure, routine. Purpose. Where in the Lagoon, Kendry reflects that he has done nothing worthwhile with his time, and today is hammering home how little evidence there is that he has made any effort at establishing meaningful relationships. It is especially notable now, on his return from being gone for so long, when he recognizes almost none of the horses walking the Islands. He doesn’t mind being alone. It’s the loneliness rearing its head that’s beginning to bother him. |