As it seemed to be a pattern now, Tarrant was lounging in the Atlantis sunshine, enjoying the break in the spring storms and listening to the waves crash on the shoreline. The briny scent of the sea was burrowed in his nostrils and for a moment, he was at peace. His eyelids dropped, his hip dipped, and his hoof cocked in the sand. A slow, rhythmic breathing took the stallion as he dozed, though he was always alert for any sound which could necessitate his investigation. For a little while there was nothing other than the sounds of the jungle behind him, though those noises were now familiar to him. The cries of strange birds were just as much music as the tireless ocean tide.

Then, and quite suddenly, Tarrant heard a whinny. His head jerked up as his green eyes opened, squinting against the light before he huffed a low breath of air and twitched his ears, peering down the beach and two figures that were unrecognizable. His skin was hot from the sun and sleek, a winter coat never having to grow when he lived at such a place as paradise. Tarrant flicked his cream tail at his hindquarters and lifted his chin, lips splitting as a loud (yet welcoming) whinny erupted from his throat. He let them know he’d seen them and, without further delay, pushed himself to start forward and meet them on the beach.

He exchanged breaths with them – first with the stallion and then the speckled mare, curious about what had brought these visitors to his home. “Hello,” he settled easily into the greetings, “my name’s Tarrant.” Perhaps they would know with his scent woven throughout the terrain or the way he’d moved so quickly to greet them just who he was here. If they did not, they could always ask. “What brings you to Atlantis?” With their skin dripping in salty seawater he doubted they’d just popped over from the Ridge, after all, and curiously amused himself by wondering where these visitors had traveled from.