Meadow

Bacardi is both amused and concerned by the concept of Dredge being a Peak mare. Her attitude would fit in well, should it be directed more outwardly, but he wasn’t quite sure what it would be like if he had to share a home with her, which was the concerning part. At least her bitter retort quickly squashes his concern, leaving the stallion inwardly relieved though he would never be so rude to show it on the outside.


“Perhaps it is the type of son that is produced.” Bacardi suggested. He knew a lot of mares fell victim to the more crueler natures of stallions, and that was what the Peak stood against. But he had not been created in such a manner. Though he did not know if his parents truly loved each other, they at least cared about one another. There was no hate between them and how he had come to be.


Bacardi’s ears flick forward at Dredge’s question, unsure if it had been meant as a insult or inquiry. Curiosity keeps him standing there, waiting for the red stallion’s answer and hoping it gave insight on what may lie outside of the islands.

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

"...speech"