Isengrim picked his head up at the sound of heavy footfalls that even the sloppy mud couldn't hide. The approaching stallion was taller than him, by quite a lot. Though Isengrim did not flinch beneath his towering shadow or examining gaze. In fact he welcomed the scrutiny and stood up a little bit taller, a little bit prouder.

"The Lagoon can hold many things for a young stallion such as yourself," the taller stallion says, and Isengrim gives a sharp nod. "That is the plan," his voice is surprisingly deep, despite his age, pointing toward it getting only deeper and deeper as he aged. The young stallion pulls his head up and back to get a better look at Jigsaw. The towering brown stallion is marked by scars and cuts, some healed and some seemingly fresh as the day was young. It was clear he was a warrior, someone Isengrim could learn from. His ears perked, pressing forward past his dark forelock. His eyes, so pale they were almost the color of moonlight, seemed to dance with mirth.

"It is a pleasure brother Jigsaw," he tucked his nose toward his chest. He wasn't going to bow to him, he wasn't a king, but the dip of the nose was just about the most respect Isengrim could show. "I am Isengrim, son of Fell." He wondered if his father's reputation reached even here. Whether his lineage was good or bad was left to be seen, but one thing was sure. There was a monster living in Isengrim, all the lagoon had to do was coax it out.

It was clear to Isengrim, having watched some of the other stallions that vied for position that there was a divide between some of the brothers. As he looked upon Jigsaw and the scars across his dark skin, he knew that perhaps he had found an ally in him. He could only hope.