Meadow

Solomon

Buoyed by the privelege of his sex, Solomon has not had to worry about whether he would need to run from them or defend himself from their attacks. He does not fear the loss of his autonomy or self control. Even if they took exception to his arrival, the worst he would expect to endure is a few snarky comments and maybe a show of teeth.

Solomon had been raised to believe in his sire's ideals, that only stallions were fit to rule. It was not a lack of respect for the fairer sex, just a deep appreciation for the different gifts afforded to their genders. It was a rare queen that managed to earn Solomon's respect, and of those that he had heard of across these Lost Isles so far, only one was worthy of any mention... and even that was begrudgingly given. So many mares believed themselves fed up with the status quo, and instead of retreating to the Peak, they decided that they could do better themselves. If it wasn't so infuriating to see a mare leader swollen with child parading around as though they weren't putting themselves, their herd, and their unborn at needless risk, he might not even care.

But they were. And until they weren't, they were hardly worth his time.

These thoughts do not trouble him now. After all, he's got the attention of two beautiful mares on a warm summer day, with nothing pressing to trouble his mind. As the golden mare perks up at the mention of his home, he nods eagerly, pleasantly surprised she knew of his Cove. His home had proven surprisingly notorious as the years had passed and had proven easily recognizable for many of those he had come across on the Crossing.

"It is, on its southern side." Her further commentary, implying she at least knew of Tinuvel's climate. Tinuvel was colder than most lands, downright bitter in winter, but glorious in the summer months. The mild heat was a far cry from the stroke inducing press of humid Atlantean summers, or the desiccation of Salem's winds. The only other island Solomon had considered settling upon was Luthien, but opportunities there were limited.

The black mare assures him he was not interrupting, and it is evident from the guarded nature that she responds with that she is not the vivacious sort. She mentions the Ridge, and he vaguely recalls that Bjorn had called the jungle land home. It's been a long time since he's come across the short grullo, which was surprising only because for a while, Bjorn was everywhere that Sol was. Still, Faolain does not chase him away and also offers a playful rejoinder about the Cove's flowers.

"None so pretty as what I've found here," Not bothering to suppress his chuckle or the gleam in his eyes, he rides along with the playful tone of the two. "I know it sounds redundant, but the Cove is prettiest in the winter. There's something magical about looking over your family with the backdrop of the mountain and snowy pine trees. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Faolain speaks next, addressing her question to the spotted golden mare and Solomon waits for her reply. He assumed from her knowledge of the Cove that she was not brand new to the Isles, but many have returned after long absences. When she is done, he turns to the dark mare with his next question. "You said the Ridge? I've been meaning to visit Bjorn for some time. Have you been there long?"

Dutch Harness Horse Mutt | Champagne Grullo Tobiano Stallion | 17 Hands | The Cove