Vodnik has been mighty ruler of these impressive lands for two seasons now. He thought being king of the hill, literally and metaphorically, would help satiate the hunger inside, but it has not. Vodnik is as restless as ever. He wants more. He is not satisfied with what mares he has, and glory has not been won with the territory alone. He considers stealing or challenging for more mares, or moving to conquer the entire island, but a rational part of his mind tells him this is not what he needs.

But what does he need? Vodnik doesn't know.

The ridge is teeming with life. Spring brings new new blooms. Grasses grow tall, and baby animals of every kind are appearing all over the mountain sides, baby animals of all kinds, except foals.

Vodnik has sired at least twenty foals in his lifetime. This would be his first year since maturity that he has not covered a mare. He is not upset about this, as he's never seen the births of any of his foals, nor been involved in their rearing at all. He is, however, bothered by the silence. Voices of every species but horse can be heard echoing between his peaks, but equine life on the ridge is quiet. Coming from a rowdy, bachelor band, Vodnik is made uneasy by the lack of activity.

He dozes in the shade on a warm, spring afternoon. One leg rests, and his head hangs low. A mass of thick, black mane, spills forth and covers his eyes. Vodnik's ears twitch only occasionally at the sound of a bird taking flight or a squirrel's claws scrabbling at tree bark, but when he hears the voice of a stranger rise above all other sounds, he is jolted awake. Vodnik's head is suddenly up and his mane tossed out his eyes. His nostrils flare, and his ears are turned in rapt attention towards the source of the sound. Without more than a moments hesitation, he launches into a trot. His brain is still foggy from sleep, but growing concern urges him on.

Vodnik breaks free of the forest and the scene that awaits him is not what he expected. There stand four horses, exhausted from their swim. He expected the stallion, but the family he protects is an unexpected sight.

The stallion closes the gap between them, with heavy steps upon the sand. He halts just short of the group. His ears are drawn and his eyes wary. "What brings you to The Ridge?", he asks, as he surveys the group, merely guessing what their presence here might mean.

OOC: Sorry for the recycled bit! I'm on a time crunch and really wanted to get this reply up!