Meadow

Bacardi had grown wary from his worries, the absence of his mother a constant weight on his shoulders. Though as he grew older, and her presence not truly needed, it was the thought she had gone to war and not come back in quite some time. The red mare had always been watchful of her son, a constant in his life that he always wanted to escape from when he was just weaned. At first, her absence had been liberating, now it shackled him more than her fear of losing him had.


It was edges of the Meadow he had chosen to rest at; his painted body tucked away in the shadows of the trees just enough that he blended in well. His shoulder leaned against one, the bark not able to bite into his flesh with his thick winter coat and proved to be a good way to rest without having to lay down. But when one of the many meadow visitors decided to have a go around the snow cover land, Bacardi was quickly disturbed from his sleep.


Opening his wolfish gold eyes, he squinted them at the reddish colored stallion as he stopped to take a scratch. It seemed Bacardi wasn’t the only one the stallion disturbed as a cranky looking mare prowled over to spout a few nasty words. The young stallion couldn’t help but give a hearty chuckle at the sight; what appeared to be a younger horse scolding an older one for having fun. A bit backwards, wasn’t it?


Straightening his leaning stance from the tree, Bacardi gave himself a good shake before walking out of the trees and into the open. He approached the two with a casual stride and stopped at a respectable distance, offering a smile and his dark ears pushed forward. "Yes, such the irresponsible thing to do." he said, but couldn’t help but chuckle again afterwards.


Bacardi could not scent anything on either of these horses like had had been able to on Havelle. He wondered if he carried the Peak’s scent on his hide still, since he had not been there for a while. Unable to help his curiosity, the young stallion went ahead and asked. "Where are you two from?"

two years. mutt. bay tobiano. fourteen three hands. of the peak.

"...speech"