Like most days, the forest is calm and quiet. With the larger body of the herd tucked away in some small opening in the trees where the sun was the warmest and the grass was the greenest, the stallion had allowed himself to linger at the edges of the group, more often than not disguised by the thick foliage in which he travelled. Vercingetorix had quickly become a master of the forest, with hooves that found near-silent purchase on the carpet of moss, leaves, and twigs that had fallen from the trees above. His skin all but disappeared into the din of the vegetation, the browns of the bark synonymous with his coat.

He had grown comfortable in his home, and even when the wind picked up and howled through the trees, lending the branches and the leaves their wordless voices that sung eerily through the night, the stallion wanders aimlessly and confidently. The red dun is familiar with all the nooks and crannies of his home, aware that there were thickets and bushes that were the preferred resting places of women with children, and that the grazing was best just up the slighest incline of a slope that made up a very large, very low lying hill. Everything about the forest came easily to him, and in that he finds himself almost happy, almost.

Such a serious creature so plagued with nightmares could never really be at ease or happy for the moaning and groaning of the trees around him, but he was less unsettled than he normally was.

Once more he started his morning routine by picking himself off the ground and shaking the forest debris from his mane. Everything had been quiet during the night, aside from the shrieks and screams that tore through his mind whilst he slept, and so Vercingetorix had little reason to run pell-mell throughout the forest recollecting the scattered mares and gathering them back up in a large group once more. As of late he found himself concerned for their lack of comraderie, for his false mother had often told him that there was strength in numbers, and women could defend themselves without the powerful presence of a stallion if they stayed together. Assuming the women of the forest had their reasons for disassociating themselves from one another, the red stallion continued on his way through the trees.

Whilst moving in the general direction of the main body of the herd, a thin, sharp call pierced the air, making the stallion's head swing suddenly in one direction and his steps came to a stop. Staring through the trees, he can see the sabino and her daughter of gold and white in the not so far distance. Vercingetorix can only imagine that he had been spotted and that the cry was more of an invitation to join Vivianna then to demand his immediate presence, so he takes his time walking towards her. Still moving at a leisurely pace, the stallion gets close enough to be within speaking distance, but holds his ground and keeps a wary eye on the infant child that does not belong to him. Not an entirely irrational man, the stallion had his own natural and instinctual reasons for not wanting to get too close to the fatherless daughter of the grullo sabino and the nameless stallion that had been here before him.

Instead of paying too much attention to the newborn, Vercingetorix instead keeps his eyes towards the woman's face and greets her with a smooth voice. “Good morning, Vivianna.”