For a long while, he had been no one worth notice. He had wandered across the hills, breathing not a word to any one that stumbled across him, and he had gone unnoticed for quite a long time. Once, the red stallion had decided to see what was beyond the seas, and he had crossed them, finding nothing that was any more interesting than the islands that he had already come from. Born into the lagoon, he had already branched out across the islands, finding that there were cozy little nooks here and there- but none had been so alluring as the prairie.

Vercingetorix had not settled there long, instead he had been pushed out by women that cling to him and tried to keep him close- to pretend that he was their lover and companion instead of allowing him to live out his loneliness in peace. His second try, as he had stepped into the whispering trees of the forest, had thus far appeared to be rather successful. The women that had been abandoned to themselves by the man that had taken residence in the forest before him, were aloof and indifferent to his presence, leaving the red stallion to go about his business in private and on his lonesome.

The woman that had taken it upon herself to stumble unaccompanied into the forest looks at him with yet another indifferent face, and perhaps he can say that she would be more than happy amongst this hoard of callous women. Her eyes meet his, and the two of them stare in relative silence for quite some time before she answers him. Perhaps if it were not for her blank and somewhat cold stare, the stallion would have thought that her gratitude was completely sarcastic instead of slightly confused. Vercingetorix, perhaps, would have found reason to be irritated with her for wandering in and then all but letting his words brush off her shoulders. Instead, he nods ever so slightly and answers her question with his name. “Vercingetorix.”

When his father had named him, Mordred had thought to give the dun a mouthful of a name, maybe to make the boy laugh about it later in life, but instead the forest stallion wore it proudly. To him, his name was the trophy he had earned in surviving his first few weeks out of his mother's womb- that he had earned a name because he had lived. “And you?” His voice is smooth, and he thinks that she will not give him an honest answer, but he guess that it was worth a try anyways.