Perhaps he had been marked since birth to be a failure. Better men would have raided islands to ensure the health and safety of women and children, better men would have paused to look back at the softly lined silhouette of the girl standing at the edge of the shore pleading with her eyes to be taken away with her mother. Sadly, Vercingetorix was painfully average in those aspects. While he was not the roaring, battering beast similar to the stallion that he had pried Fleete away from, he was not the sort of hero that would be sung of after he died on the battle field.

The pale mare is a thin wisp of a creature, leaning into the great tree as though she was likely to suck the strength from it. In front of him, the painted grullo looks to be a more powerful creature, able to tower over both the red dun and the pearl mare if she were to embrace her full height. All three strangers were made of completely different means. It seemed as though Fleete was more ruled by her past and the emotions that survived with it, and Syndrome was a woman of her own volition, capable of handling herself in sticky situations. To step into explaining the details of the red dun would make for a very boring novel, but he was handsomely built, strong chested and serious- looking more like a man that had seen too many turns of the earth then one that wanted to settle into the comfort of the forest.

Listening with forward ears as the silver grullo speaks her name, Vercingetorix's attention quickly switches to the thin mare, watching her with his dark eyes as she quietly approaches the three of them. He imagines that she will draw strength from the larger, tired mare as she had drawn in the stability of the great tree. Once Fleete had settled next to the other mare, his ears flick backwards as she speaks, her voice soft but holding the cutting edge of a woman with sharper words. Assuming she is accusing him of separating her from her child without the slightest backwards thought, the stallion shifts his weight and sighs.

“Well then...” His voice is soft and even, despite his physical irritation at her choice of words. “My apologies then.” There is no cutting edge to the stallion's voice, and he sounds almost completely devoid of emotion. Instead of deciding it best to pick a fight with the mare, he turns back to Syndrome, aware that the swim from the common island to be a tiresome struggle. “I will leave you to rest, both of you.” Turning, the red stallion moves off through the trees, leaving the two mares alone with each other.