Indian Hemp is a humble stallion. He has never owned land, nor had a herd of his own. He has sired several children over the years, but he has never loved more than one mare at a time, and he has never held the desire for more. He returned to the islands to look for closure here, not to accomplish any feat of greatness. In his condition, how could he?
The stallion is in his teens, and a poor inheritance of genes has left him with a sight that fades with the years. Some call it moon blindness. It may be because his ability to see seems to wax and wane with the lunar cycle, or it could be because his eyes look like moons themselves now, marbled spheres of dark and light with passing clouds that obscure their faces from view.
Welcomed by Kendry, Indian Hemp has found his way into the Lagoon. Thus far, he has kept to himself, lurking in the shadows, and hiding his scent with the pungent odors of the wetlands just inside the shores of the lagoon. It is the smell of blood that lures him out of hiding today. Relying on his other senses, has sharpened them. Indian Hemp may not have noticed the smell, nor heard the strange sounds before, but now he does. A combination of worry and curiosity lure him to the source. He should run, but concern for his own safety has diminished over the years. Call him careless, or call it a result of a life already well-lived.
He smells of algae and his spotted coat is streaked with mud, but he isn't concerned about that. He approaches the unclear form of another horse. He can tell by the height of the figure, and the general shape, that the other is standing, but he can't tell much else at the moment. Indian Hemp stops several yards away and issues a questioning nicker of greeting. "Are you alright?" His ears are forward, and his body language is non-threatening.
Even if he were posing as a threat, it would be difficult to take him seriously. Indian Hemp may be around 16 hands tall, but he's slight of build, narrow, and leggy. Indian Hemp's sparse mane stands upon his neck like foal's, and his failing sight should be apparent to anyone who looks into his face.
The stallion is in his teens, and a poor inheritance of genes has left him with a sight that fades with the years. Some call it moon blindness. It may be because his ability to see seems to wax and wane with the lunar cycle, or it could be because his eyes look like moons themselves now, marbled spheres of dark and light with passing clouds that obscure their faces from view.
Welcomed by Kendry, Indian Hemp has found his way into the Lagoon. Thus far, he has kept to himself, lurking in the shadows, and hiding his scent with the pungent odors of the wetlands just inside the shores of the lagoon. It is the smell of blood that lures him out of hiding today. Relying on his other senses, has sharpened them. Indian Hemp may not have noticed the smell, nor heard the strange sounds before, but now he does. A combination of worry and curiosity lure him to the source. He should run, but concern for his own safety has diminished over the years. Call him careless, or call it a result of a life already well-lived.
He smells of algae and his spotted coat is streaked with mud, but he isn't concerned about that. He approaches the unclear form of another horse. He can tell by the height of the figure, and the general shape, that the other is standing, but he can't tell much else at the moment. Indian Hemp stops several yards away and issues a questioning nicker of greeting. "Are you alright?" His ears are forward, and his body language is non-threatening.
Even if he were posing as a threat, it would be difficult to take him seriously. Indian Hemp may be around 16 hands tall, but he's slight of build, narrow, and leggy. Indian Hemp's sparse mane stands upon his neck like foal's, and his failing sight should be apparent to anyone who looks into his face.