Vodnik is nearly a ton of sinew and bone under a layer of healthy fat. He is an imposing figure of strength and good health. No severity of weather or harshness of climate has ever revealed his ribs nor faded the dapples from his coat. During torrential rains, Vodnik failed even to seek shelter. He stood in a sparse grove, alternately nibbling wet rations, and dozing on his feet, with his rump to the driving rains. The earliest of morning light filters through the branches above. Vodnik's wet coat glimmers a rich shade of copper, with bold flashes of white. His thick, black, tail hangs heavy in clumps around his hocks and his mane clings to his neck.

He stirs with the other woodland creatures and decides to move on from his muddied location in search of a better breakfast. Vodnik's lazy quest takes him on a long and winding journey among his own wooded territory. He has seen such seldom activity since he claimed this land in autumn, that he sometimes lets is guard down. He hears nothing but the echo of his own thoughts, and the soft pad of his own hooves moving across damp leaf litter, so he is started by the sudden flash of flaxen mane popping up from the earth, somewhere in the realm of his distant peripheral vision.

Vodnik turns and issues a snort. Several yards away, stands a familiar form.

It's been many months since he spotted this mare from a vantage point near the neighboring territory of Paradise. He attempted to steal her, but stealth has never been his strong suit. Vodnik's obvious size and contrasting coat make him a poor thief. He planned to let some time pass, and for the lead of that territory to fall into a false sense of security before issuing a challenge. Though it appears fate has rendered these plans unnecessary. Here she stands, within his borders.

The stallion's mind reels in surprise for only a moment before he launches into motion. He strides boldly towards the mare, with his ears forward and his broad, muscular neck arched in interest. "Hello." He greets her, with a triumph in his voice. "What brings you the Ridge?"

The mare is smaller than he expected, but no less beautiful than he imagined. Vodnik doesn't know why the little chestnut mare caught his attention those many months ago, but there is no logic in attraction.

OOC: Vodnik doesn't mind at all! ;)