You say it like I am some trollop.

Solgar freezes in place for a split-second, his dark eyes boring into the mare's pale face as he tries to make sense of her comment. The hostility in her voice had been unforeseen, and now he is stunned. A moment later and his brow ridges are furrowing together; at least he manages to get a word in before the mare continues her rant.

"I meant no disrespect."

Winter. He lets her name sink into his brain, toys with it atop his mental tongue like a babe with a rattle. It suits her, he realizes suddenly, and then he cannot help it: the smallest of smirks creases the corner of his black lips. Or perhaps she should be called Summer instead, with all that flame leaping from her mouth.

He doesn't quite hear everything she says, but he pays attention enough in those moments to understand that she's insulting him and generally promising to be a handful in the future. He can foresee himself butting heads with her many times, to say the least. Eventually she calms down, however, and to his surprise she leans forward, her pink steaming nostrils offering a silent truce. For etiquette's sake, but not without a snort of derision, he extends his muscled neck and lightly touches her nose with his. Her breath is warm, and smells slightly sweet.

"I didn't expect winter to come so early this year," he jokes dryly, just a split second before his attention is redirected to a surprise guest.

The stranger greets Winter, indicating quite clearly that they know each other. Solgar frowns, for this mare he has heard nothing about. She seems pleasant enough, however - if a bit nervous - and with her lithe build and humble mahogany-colored pelt he secretly feels a stab of attraction for her. Solgar has a thing for dark-colored females, you see. He has always subconsciously felt out of place next to flashy specimens like Winter with his simple blue roan coat.

"Solgar. And the offer still stands," he replies pointedly with a curt bob of his dark head. For a moment he wonders what happened to this 'Tarrant': whether he had died or been chased away. Then he remembers Winter's previous scathing words: I am the one who will still be here when you gallop off into some dumb ass idea that pops into your brain.

Had Tarrant simply deserted them?

Shifting his weight and flicking one ear back against his messy crest of hair, Solgar stands quietly, as is characteristic of him, and waits for the mares to take the conversational reins.