They had sent her out from the great herd with a simple task: find the princes. A task she did not take on lightly, as it were, but with a rather fierce determination. It was her only chance, after all, to prove she could be trusted to be more than a snorting scout by the inner barriers. If she found the princes then maybe she would be able to even run in the race during the Festical of Shu. It was all the little sabino had ever wanted anyway. The Scouts had never had much faith in her, generally speaking, though they were inclined to give her rather disappointing jobs to appease her and her father.

Of course it wasn't easy but she was capable. Her feet were fast, her heart and lungs were strong, and Zazu had felt a sense of Destiny about her. For what exactly she wasn't sure, but she was young enough to willing go with the feeling even in the face of the unknown.

The princes left a trail behind him, no matter how hard they tried to disappear. She had followed them, the distant and hazy signs of their heels throwing up dust. They'd swam part of the channel into the islands, which Zazu had watched from a far enough distance to not be seen by any of them. Carefully, she had kept on them, surveying, trying to find out where it was they were trying to head to and then they came to the Dunes. It didn't surprise her that this was where they chose to reside, it was home, after all, the sand called in their blood. She, too, felt the pull to remain.

Still, Zazu kept herself away from sight for a while. She surveyed the outer barriers of the herdland, she watched strangers come and go--she saw mares be herded in as well. Ones with fat bellies and solemn eyes, Zazu pitied them, in a sense. Days went by and she watched them, the princes were making a home here, and she knew it was time to reveal herself.

Zazu shuffles her way down the dunes into the valley, her body sleek and shining, her head tucked against her chest. Her nostrils are round, taking in the humidity-- when she enters the valley, she can see the lone stallion, or rather, she can smell him. She knows the scent, she had been around it.

Aldebaran.

"Greetings, prince," she calls to him. Her voice is high and friendly, with an edge of quiet mockery, which was quite normal. The little bay sabino flicks her tail and extends her muzzle in a customary greeting, letting her breath blow into his nostrils.