Common

Solomon

Exhaustion lapped at the edges of his mind, threatening to drown him in the surging waves. Hours of constant travel had worn the tobiano down to near nothing, but it was so worth it. The knowledge he carried with him, and the potential coup he planned to orchestrate kept him going. The promise of no longer existing under Shaydowfax's thumb was almost as sweet as the thought of earning his alliance with Warsaw.

Water slid from his thickly coated body in sheets as he emerged from the grip of the icy waves. The cold of it invigorated him anew and he dragged in a brisk breath, dark nostrils flaring as he drank in the far too familiar scent of the Commons. He could have landed on the Falls or the Meadow. They were equidistant refuges on the return from the desert lands he had just visited, but they were less satisfying than the land he'd chosen. The Commons were both a danger for new arrivals, and a choice buffet for those who were a little more settled.

The tobiano stallion strode confidently up the beach, eyes roving over the various new arrivals. Most had already been approached by someone - whether it be a confident stallion like the stout grulla who was leaving with a pretty mare in tow, or the opinionated black mare who reminded him of Shaydowfax with her commanding air and swollen belly. A frown listed over his lips at her obvious rashness before he pulled his gaze away to resume scanning the land. He'd never understand the mares that willingly risked their children to swim in the icy waters of winter. They were a danger for everyone, but even moreso to mares made heavier and more easily exhausted by the children they bore.

Eventually his eyes land on the cob mare and he slows his pace, neck bowing as he pauses to study her. Like so many of the other new arrivals to this land, she seemed exhausted and he identified with it, a tired smile curving his lips. Stouter than most of his mares, she still seemed girlish somehow, with the innocence of youth still fresh on her figure.

"The trees up here will cut the worst of the wind," he approaches as he speaks, shrewd emerald eyes brightened at the thought of feminine company. "You can lean on me if you like."

He cast his gaze upward toward the trees that he had mentioned, both as an indication of what he meant, and as a way to watch for other would-be approachers. He'd done enough lately to make himself a target of various entities and there were plenty of individuals that would be happy to deny him a chance to grow his herd.

Solomon turns back to the feathered mare with a bob of his head, a mockery of a courtly bow, before speaking again. "My name is Solomon, of the Cove."

Dutch Harness Horse Mutt | Champagne Grullo Tobiano Stallion | 17 Hands | The Cove