Kendry strolls through the meadow slowly, savoring the crisp press of each wide hoof as it breaks the light crust on the snow and compacts the white, wet blanket underfoot. His shoulder aches from where he slammed it against a tree in the Forest, and while he does not catalogue his other injuries he does take care to walk as if he is unhurried, to make it less obvious that he has come from battle, to show the world that he is unburdened by pain.
Though his desire to make a home is strong, the Thicket does not yet feel like one to him. It is too close and crowded under that canopy, and though winter has yet to show its full strength on Luthien Kendry has missed snow too much to wait. The air hints at it and the skies are gray, clouded, but thus far anything that has fallen has been caught by the bare branches of the trees. Additionally, he does not yet know where he stands in Ruger’s eyes, and so the perlino has struck out for the familiar shores of the Crossing the escape the overwhelming sense of claustrophobia and displacement.
His heart has lead him once more to the Meadow, guiding him to a familiar flat spot where, on a moonlit autumn evening, he felt for too brief a time as if he were home. The field around him today is empty, just a wide swath of white save for a dark figure across the way. The horse is too short to be who he hopes but the promise of company does draw his attention, and the blue eyed stallion makes his measured way over to the stranger.
As it’s likely the sounds of his hooves through the snow have alerted the other to his approach, Kendry doesn’t break the peaceful silence. He draws up next to the black mare, ears flipped forward, and extends his muzzle toward hers as he breathes out softly. The contemplative quiet is one he is loathe to break, especially having interrupted this mare’s solitude without invitation. He draws his head back and gestures forward, then takes a step, offering her without words to join him on his stroll through the snow. |