The mare was nothing like he had expected. From the way she moved, to the way she talked; the accent alone nearly leaving him reeling. Fritjof had to pay close attention to follow everything she said, and yet it seemed cryptic. As if some riddle that he needed to carefully pick his way through not to fall in some wisely lain trap, yet she had called him the shadow in the mist.


Whatever quip that Fritjof might have found himself saying quickly died away with the greeting of another. Though it was hard, the stallion’s dark blue eyes not wanting to break away from the mare, he turned his skull-colored face over to gaze upon the older stallion. He didn’t look familiar, nor did he smell like anyone that Fritjof had ever met. Yet, somehow, he held the same sun bathed cologne of Atlantis as he had the mare did.


“I seek neither of them.” Fritjof replied to the stallion, though he did cast one ear towards the mare he had been facing. His body moving so that he was now directed somewhere between the two. “Only to introduce myself to my neighbors, even if it is during such strange hours.” Nothing like a moonlit walk that had turned into…. This. Whatever this was.


“My name is Fritjof, King of the Shore.”


And whatever strange conversation that had started between himself and the mare, would have to be finished later.