SCARECROW

Scarecrow did not miss the way Neon tensed at the intrusion of the new stallion, and he wasn't surprised by it. It was brave enough of her to come up to him, let alone to have a stallion approach her in the commons. Regardless of the fact that she smelled like Warsaw, at first glance it would be easy enough to assume she was the homeless one in this scenario. And there were plenty of stallions out there that would force a mare one way or the other, regardless of whether or not she was accompanied.

Luckily the new lad is polite and she relaxes, listening to his advice with open ears. The tobiano offered to escort the leggy old man to his home in the Desert, though he skips over Crows admittedly weak attempt at humor. All business then, I see. He muses, and eyes the other stallion. He hadn't noticed at first glance but the stout stallion bore the marks of a recent dispute or two, marks across his body and a limp that was mild but hardly concealed. Something must have happened.

Neon cut short his study of the pinto by agreeing to head back home and to keep her little meeting a secret. It's not that Crow wanted to steal her away or keep secrets from the Tinuvel King, but he also didn't want the mare to have to pay for her kindness. The dunalino had seen his fair share of tyrant leaders to know what could happen to a mare found wandering out of the herd and cavorting with strange stallions during a time of war.

Crow couldn't really explain why he felt protective of the little roan other than that it was nice to feel someone's kindness. She hadn't expected anything of him (nor had she offered anything beyond conversation but that was a different matter), and had simply been there to make sure the rack of bones wasn't in fact a dying carcass. Despite this, he is surprised at her fond little nip and there is a momentary disconnect where just stares at the spot marked on his skin for a long moment. Did she .. just?

It had been a long time, longer than he cared to admit in retrospect, since someone had done more than tolerate his presence.

Cain's comment breaks him back to reality and he nods with a chuckle, his amber eyes following the mare's retreating back. "Seems that way, anyway. My names Scarecrow, but you can call me Crow, if it's easier."

Together they then paced toward the edge of the ocean and Crow frowned at the feeling of the cold water on his tired limbs. He'd not done much to regain strength after washing ashore on the Commons the night before, unconcious, but he wasn't particularly worried about this swim. He'd slept ages on the beach, and found a friend in the little roan. And now, he had the warmth of the desert to look forward to, and the knowledge that at least temporarily, he was not homeless.

If that wasn't motivation to keep swimming, he didn't know what was.

Crow doesn't answer right away when Cain asks the question, focusing instead on the taxing swim to the Salem island. When they do at last wash up in the shallows, it is with heaving ribs and a pained expression on his face that he stumbles to a halt. After catching his breath for a second he continues, having had time to think over what Cain had offered in his comment. Clearly he doesn't think much of Warsaw, which isn't surprising. The Tinuvel monarch seems to have torn the islands into two opposing parties. Pro-boys, and pro-equality.

Still, Crow chooses his words carefully. "There's a lot of talk about the war in the common areas. Seems you're not the only one to feel that way, although there's a fair few that are intimidated by him."

He shook himself of the ocean water, and followed further onto the beach. "I've seen his sort before, and I didn't want her to pay for her kindness. Can't say it was smart of her to talk to and old fool like me, but here we are."

A lopsided grin touched his lips at the self deprecation. At Cain's gesture forward, he inclined his head in affirmation. He'd love a tour of the place. "While we walk, tell me about yourself then? And your herd?"