It seemed as though the two of them had turned to the quiet shadows of the forest for similar reasons. While Vercingetorix had torn himself from the edges of the herd to marshal the borders of the forest, it seemed as though Yscha had found herself in a similar situation only thanks to the insufferable squabbling that was doubtless the ensue with the current state of affairs in the herd.

He would have commended her with having the smarts to pull away from the group before things got nasty, had he not been so deeply concerned at finding stragglers here and there at an alarmingly frequent rate. It seemed as though the herd of the forest, for lack of a better word, was not a herd at all. Shifting his weight and thinking back, he cannot remember enough of his childhood to determine if this was a natural occurrence in a newly claimed terrain with a slowly growing herd, or if perhaps he was simply failing at what he had thought to be a rather less-than-complex job.

The conversation turns towards the state of affairs that the mares had decided to take upon themselves, and Vercingetorix listens wilfully to what the dappled mare has to say. The stallion obviously had no qualms with listening to what the inhabitants of his home had to say, and this was the only way he could see what happened within the main body of the herd without immersing himself fully into the politics that he would rather let the women figure out on their own. What he had thought of such things as asserting dominance over the others was a completely different shade from what the others would think it to be. While he preferred to determine his rank through the art of intimidation and sheer power through violence (as Yscha had previously seen with the grullo intruder), the forest stallion imagined that mares were more sensible than that, and opted to find their fruits through discussion and perhaps more democratic means like voting.

As Yscha questions the stallion and her child settles to nap on the soft ground beneath her belly, Vercingetorix hums softly in thought. “I think these to be matters I'd best not get involved with.” In the short days that he had been loved and adored by his false mother, he had learnt that there had been a sort of pecking order to be found between mares in a herd. It had been a natural thing that asserted itself without any meddling from whatever man had thought it his job to pick one over the others. “Someone that is deserving of the title will earn it however she pleases- I can only hope that no blood is spilt over it.”