Cold water washed over his legs, the chill pricking his skin and making his ankles ache in the slightest way. He remembers the bitter cold of tinuvel that had been his constant companion throughout childhood, and the way the winds would pick their way through the evergreen forests, carrying with them drifts of snow that could create the illusion of a blizzard. Here, the snow has only just begun to dust across the ground beneath the trees, small banks building up against the faces of the tree trunks that looked into the wind. Overhead there was always dangling a precariously stacked pile of snow that threatened to tumble down upon the inhabitants of the forest at any moment. As of late, Vercingetorix had yet to be bombarded by the heavy, packed snow that clung to the branches.

Staring into the water, he had been aware that he had collected some followers when he had managed to escape from the edges of the herd. No doubt curiosity had brought them to his heels, and he did not mind in the least. Instead, he quietly pressed his nose to the water and watched as hooves splash in water in front of him and to the right, listening to the gravelly sound of another set of hooves settling at the edge of the riverbank to his further right. Soon he is surrounded by the sounds of others, as yet another seemed to find purchase to his left. Counting the footfalls, the stallion surmises that he has managed to attract three curious followers, all standing quietly in his midst as if waiting for him to speak.

There was not much for the stallion to say, but as he looks up, his dark eyes trailing up the equally dark legs of the silent girl and then moving to the right to find the silvery painted woman standing and watching, no doubt waiting for him to say something, but instead as he glimpses the concerned and inquisitive looks of the mares, he drags his gaze to the other side, and sees the gangly spotted stallion.

For a moment, he thinks to be a bit on the defensive, and as his ears swivel backwards, he examines the respectful distance that the appaloosa has put between himself and the mares, and instead of getting angry, Vercingetorix blinks in his direction before turning back to the other mares. “You're both far from the herd.” He states flatly, as if his nightmare had been nothing but a bad memory and as if he had completely forgotten it by now. The bitter taste of his fear sits in the back of his throat, and he remembers well the sensation of being fixed to the ground as the laughter of some unseen demon cut through the trees, taunting him as he struggled against his own melting hooves...

With a subtle gesture in the direction of the spotted stallion, he speaks again, voice still smooth and somewhat devoid of emotion, as he was like to do. “This is Indian Hemp. He will be staying here for a while.” As if turning their attention away from himself was the only way to deter their inquisitive looks.