As Iftikhar, the chestnut arabian stalks by him, a smile crosses his dark lips. Fiery desert mare. Rolling his russet eyes, he breaks from the group of horses, with a single nod after their retreating forms. Hooves dig into the tundra turf beneath him, propelling him after the fleeting mare. Each stride brings him closer to the seething arabian, a smirk soon replaces the smile on his dark lips. She sure knew how to make an impression, shaking out his frost kissed mane. Slowing to a walk his hooves glide along with hers, he may have to take two strides for her one but he had learned the art of speed walking. Her foreign scent wafted into his nostrils, it mingled with the salty ocean scent that covered her chestnut hide. Russet eyes give her a side-long glance as they travel across the tundra. Her movements fluid, quite beautiful.

Traveling over the terrain for just a few minutes, Dögun speaks. "Maybe, we should try this again? I am Dögun pony king of the Lost Islands." Shifting his gaze towards her, she intrigued him with her foreign words and her behavior towards him. He had hardly come across a mare who would so quickly dismiss them from their presence. Shaking his fuzzy head, curious over the land that had formed her into this seething yet beautiful creature striding beside him. His own forefathers had been hardy, learning how to seek shelter and food to sustain themselves. Through hard winter after another, nature weeded itself of the weakest of his breed. Now he was the result, hardy, small, and fuzzy most months of the year. They had adapted, or else they would of been wiped off of the Tundra's face.

Maybe that was what had happened to her forebearers as well, but with the desert. He supposed that the desert created such hardy creatures as the Tundra had. The sweltering heat killing any who are not prepped for the demands of the desert. He had never been to a desert but had heard a few tales about the arid climate that Salem provided. Dögun was a fuzzy creature so he figured that he would not last long on the Island of Salem, so that my friends is why Dögun has settled on one of the coldest islands that he could find. Swiveling his fuzzy head around, his hooves continuing to cover the ground with each stride as he walked and tried to make conversation with this hard headed arab. "When we reach the tip of Tinuvel, it will not be a difficult swim to Salem. It is only a few islands south of here"