Meadow

Bacardi, a soul not meant for confinement, had not heard of the name Mouse despite all his wanderings in the last year. There was no doubt in his mind that his mother would know of the mare that Hawke spoke of, which caused him to glance in the direction of the mountain, worry again clamping its strong grasp around his heart. Would the strong red mare ever return? Many times, he had thought of going to find her, but was afraid that he would miss her return if he was not close by.


“The Peak has no need for the protection of stallions. Though some choose to keep a few there, as companions.” Bacardi answered, his golden gaze returning to the grullo’s face. He wondered what it was like during the time that Hawke spoke of. Would he have already been sent away? The painted young stallion knew his future was still uncertain, no longer being a colt but not quite ready to be a full stallion. He was enjoying his freedom now, meeting new faces and making new friends, without the worry or strain of protecting a herd or land. He had enough to think about, without those things looming over him.


“I’ve never met nor have heard of a mare named Mouse. But Macabre, the Peak’s Codebreaker, would surely know of or remember who she is.” Bacardi said, not knowing if that would be good news or bad for the strange scented horse. “I could escort you to the Peak, if you wish to see about answers there? the painted boy offered, though a lingering doubt nagged at the back of his mind. Without the knowledge of stallion or mare, would Hawke be welcome in the Peak? He hoped whatever the decision the mares came up with, was not too harshly made for his decisions.

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

"...speech"