Common

Struggle wasn't exactly a stranger to Iscariot. It felt as if his life was nothing but a series of trials, but this was the first one he faced without his sibling at his side. Though Rivaini’s intentions had of course been good, the way she’d always shielded the weaker stallion from life’s harshest lessons had left him ill-prepared to survive now that they were seperated. No thought was given to the predators who might prowl in the darkness, or even the dangers of navigating uneven terrain during crepuscular hours - particularly when his limbs weren’t all that sound to begin with. A single fall could spell the end for Iscariot, and even a lone wolf would be more than the perlino could hope to outrun. However - be it the will of the fates or a stroke of good fortune - Iscariot arrived unscathed and whole in the Commons.

If asked for his views, Iscariot would be clear in his insistence that he did not believe in fate, did not feel as if kismet favored him. But a different story would be told by his sister Rivaini. Though the silver bay took especial delight in teasing him with the title little brother, the perlino was almost a whole moon older than her - because he had been brought into the world earlier than nature intended. A slush of snow had still coated the ground when Iscariot’s dam went into labor, and no one had thought that the sickly foal would survive to see the imminent spring.

But somehow he had survived, though not entirely without cost - the bones of the colt’s legs were not fully calcified when he was born, and had been too soft to support his weight without strain. As a result, Iscariot’s hind legs had developed in such a manner that that his hock was excessively angled (sickle-hocked as a horseman might call it), making the colt's strides shorter and less powerful. In addition, because of the extra pressure this put on the joints of the leg, bony spavins began to develop as the Andalusian reached his mature weight and size. These growths caused the stallion no shortage of pain when he exerted himself, and in response Iscariot learned to minimize the amount of running and jumping that he did.

Those precautions didn't eliminate his pain, but they did make it more bearable.

Are you okay? The voice was soft, and so filled with concern that Iscariot - his mind immersed in memories of Rivaini - was momentarily certain that it was the bay mare who'd spoken. The hope died as quickly as it was born when he caught sight of the slender, shadowy mare who approached. Nevertheless, the ghostly stallion stopped - wincing at the throbbing protest in his hocks - and inclined his head in respectful greeting. Perhaps he should have been more wary of strangers, but after learning what his family had intended for him, it seemed pointless. Iscariot understood he was a weak creature living in a world ruled by the strong - if it was harm they were determined to do him, any struggle on his part would hardly spare him.

"Hello," the perlino spoke in a voice that was almost effeminate in its softness. "I was seperated from my sister," he admitted with a frown, blue eyes darting back in the direction of the coast. "But I wouldn't say that I am searching, exactly. I don't even know where I am, let alone where it is that I should look for her."

His weight shifted, seeking to distribute itself in a less painful manner. Beneath his deceptively serene exterior, Iscariot's heart fluttered in his chest as he considered that Rivaini might not even be here - wherever here was. Perhaps she had turned back home, or continued swimming to some other land. It was a large world, after all - and Iscariot, by comparison, felt very small indeed. "Her name is Rivaini," the creamy stallion said with a note of desperation creeping into his quiet voice. "And I was once called Iscariot," he added almost as an afterthought.

He didn't know whether the name his parents had gifted him was still his to claim, given the circumstances. But Iscariot didn't elaborate on that thought, lapsing into silence instead as he awaited his dark companion's response.