Little more than his name and his face had been given to him from his parents. His father had been a nobody, a man that had raped the first woman that had crossed his path in the middle of the lagoon, and his mother had been a bitter old hag that had done nothing more than submit to the golden stallion when she reached what would be her last heat. There was no such thing as honor in the life of the red stallion, as a boy he had been angry at his parents, angry at his birth, angry at his mother’s death… he had even turned a vicious eye towards the false mother from whose teat he had suckled as a mere babe- he had been angry that she could not have her own son to give to the king, her own son that would have been the red boy’s playmate and brother.

The woman before him is swollen and perhaps constantly being reminded of the man that had left he behind, perhaps she is always thinking that it was against her better judgement to follow the unknown stallion home, that it had been unwise for her to submit herself to him fully. This much, the red stallion does not care for- certainly there are other things that he should be concerned for when there are women about, such as thieves or bandits that might slink into his home and try to make off with them. It was his obligation to protect them, to make sure that the women in the forest were safe and sound under the cover of the branches from the trees.

“Oh?” He cocks his head in the direction of the mare as she corrects him, fully aware that she has stepped away from him, discomforted by his presence and perhaps in defense of her unborn. “Bitter, angery… you’re still fuming over why he left you.” Perhaps blunt, perhaps cruel, but the red stallion owed nothing to this woman, and he would not tell her something that she knew to be wrong. Promising the return of her lover and the father of her unborn child would only make him a liar, and Vercingetorix did not lie. There had never been any sort of reason in it, it was not something that one did to protect themselves or to protect others, lying was just words that were used to pretend they were something else. Like saying the sky was red instead of blue.

She speaks her name, and he seems to remember his manners, tilting his head slightly in greeting, he replies. “A pleasure to meet you then, Vivianna.” His voice is soft amongst the rustling of the trees that are slowly being plunged into the darkness of the night, what remained of the sun on the sky was merely a stain of orange-pink, stretched behind the clouds and reaching the tops of the mountains in the distance.