Even when his call cut through the air, bouncing off the thin, barren waists of the trees all around his little perch near the cool creek, the stallion was fully aware that he was not alone here. There had been telltale signs of other life; grass that had been grazed short, droppings that were piled in rather inconspicuous places, and the occasional hair dangling from a branch that had snagged a passerby not long before he had come along. Standing amongst the plants and the trees, the stallion’s skin burns a bright red, difficult to miss amongst the grey of the forest that had fallen swiftly into the shackles of winter.

Even though the stallion had keen eyes that constantly darted from tree to another, he had not spotted the mother and daughter pair that lingered on the edges of the trees, a little too far to be seen by the stallion, but not so far as to go completely unheard. He hears the whispers in the trees, ears twitching backwards as he imagines that the forest is trying to close in on him, with spined fingers that intertwine over his head and try to blot out the sun. It would take him some time to be fully at ease amongst the crowded stalks of the great woods, and yet he stood still as stone and waited for the women of this previously owned and lightly used terrain to come find him. Vercingetorix imagined that it would not take long for the mares to appear like spectres from the trees, certain that their curiosity would drive them out into the open the moment he had started making himself at home.

Whether they planned to stay or not did not entirely concern the stallion. If they chose to stay, they would be treated just as any mare would, and if they left then he would not offer them any sort of heartfelt farewell or promise he would miss them.

Call him a heartless bastard.

As he reflects on this thought, the first mare appears, carefully painted with handsomely contrasting colors of white and grullo. Pretty, but that was the only thing that he knew about her for the time being. Glancing to his side as she materializes from the trees, he blinks, tasting the bitterness in her words as she addresses him simply as “stallion”. Despite the lack of love that he had for his foster parents, the red dun had been taught an array of manners, from polite courtesies to how to impress a woman. He replies to her in like, with a simple word. “Mare.” The next creature to appear had her own set of manners, as well as being shapely and attractive. It appeared as though the man before him had an eye for pretty things- not that Vercingetorix could complain. With her comes the slightest hint of familiarity, but alas, pretty women that are of black skin are all too common these days, and he imagines that she must only seem recognizable for the potential plainness of her appearance. “Thank you. I am Vercingetorix.”

He was Vercingetorix and he was not new to this island or the inheritance of stray mares that had been abandonned by stallions that had tricked them into thinking they were treasured and loved. Perhaps it must have been unfortunate that the red dun found the concept of emotion and attachment to be trivial and pointless, that the actions of his father and how Mordred had discarded him on the beach of another man’s home at the waiting feet of a lonely woman had shaped him to be how he was today. Unfortunate indeed. Imploring the black mare with a curious look, he straightens himself, casting a sidelong glance towards the first mare then sweeping the surrounding forest with a curious look, searching for the source of the strange whispering, he turns a stern look towards Avasha and offers her a question. “How many of you are there?”