Kieron had distanced himself from the others for a couple days as his past had come flooding back to haunt him. But he knew he couldn’t hide forever. It didn’t help any that that particular day was cloudy and rainy. He kept to the canopy for what little they provided for shelter. Already, by mid day, the stallion was pretty soaked. If there was one thing Kieron was a sap about, it was rain. He liked the green it brought the grass, but he preferred to stay dry.
It was getting close to breeding season, and the nutmeg steed was becoming excited. He wouldn’t push any breeding on any of his mares, but he hoped to have one foal running around come spring. To delay having at least one foal around would be foolish. Upon the thought of having foals, Fayte’s yearling, Cavier, seeped into his thoughts. Kieron was a decently softhearted stallion, and didn’t like necessarily “kicking” a foal out of his land because it wasn’t his. But that was usually the ritual of stallions. In any case, Cavier, the king of the forest knew, was different...
Cavier wasn’t like other colts, Kieron could see that. And granted those colts who had no father figure to teach them, or those stallions that were just colder hearted than he was, could just push the emotion aside, Kieron felt it was his responsibility to at least help the colt out. He had seen the look of concern in Fayte’s gaze. Kieron also knew he would need a second stallion, soon... but would Cavier be too young to take on the responsibility? The only advantage Kieron could give the colt was, this was his home for practically almost two years now, he could help out in watching the land and it’s borders.
Debating whether or not to go and look for the yearling, the stallion really had nothing better to do. But where on earth would he find the young lad? Snorting in a tad bit of frustration, he decided to go back to where he had crossed paths with Fayte, in hopes of possibly running into Cavier again. It was a long shot, but it wasn’t like it was out of the way.
Lithe movement carried the cob draft through the woods. With each step, he could feel himself sink into the floor, as the rain was refusing to let up. His forelock was plastered to his skull, like every other part of him. This dumbfounded weather could have at least been joyful, instead of carrying on his foul mood that had only started a few days ago. Maybe meeting up with the young stallion would be good for the both of them…
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