Six ears rotated forward, pricking toward the soft sounds that indicated the approach of another. When a young mare appeared, still they remained motionless and silent. She did not come terribly close. Astarte didn't blame her one bit. She would have thought to be wary, too, if three strangers (two of them male) suddenly appeared on the borders of her home. The words that came from her mouth were not a surprise to the black mare; after all, she'd been having dreams and visions that led them here. However, her brothers were more surprised.
When he beheld the native female rounding the bend of the trail ahead of them, Romanovv had an immediate interest. He thought it was curious for a female to approach them first when it seemed so obvious that they had called for the territory's ruler. The leopard considered that perhaps she was the lead mare, answering on her mate's behalf. The idea that the beauty before him was already mated to another dampened what half-concocted fancies had begun on his part. Romanovv was the sort, see, to hold off on hoping for things, lest he be disappointed. Not so much a glass half empty, but it might have been as best an analogy as could be produced for what he felt about the way of things.
The surprise had made its way across and off of his features when she called herself the ruler, the so-called "Crown of Paradise." Was Paradise the name then of this her territory? The bay-spotted stallion's eyes flicker to his brother across their sister's withers. Carthage's face betrayed nothing, but his eyes. . . What was he thinking? Astarte's soft voice interrupts his quick observation and forces his eyes to return to the forest and the beauty before them. "Hail, the Lady Snapdragon." The black mare dipped her head respectfully to the leader, a warm and eager expression on her features. "I am called Astarte. My brothers and I, we seek to join the ranks of your land. I have heard of the priestess that dwells in your forests, and I seek to learn from her, should you give us your leave."
While all of this was going on, Carthage's crimson eyes did not leave the white-kissed form of the mare that met them. He had shown no reaction to her arrival nor to her claim over the land around them. The Friesian male had noticed Romanovv turn to look at him. As always, the spotted boy knew not what to make of things. The look on his countenance was one of a reserved strength, appraising the female before him. Carthage wasn't sure what to make of it. There had been no female claimers in the land of their birth. Sure, there had been some strong, decisive females back home who might have made fine leaders, but too often he had found that the sex proved incapable of doing whatever needed done to protect themselves, their lands, and their band. None of this showed on his face, merely a flicker behind the pensive maroon of his gaze. They would just have to see how this one shaped up.