Bacardi is typically patient, but today he can feel impatience gnawing from the inside as if trying to get out. It makes him dance in place a few times, his ears catching sounds to make him look, only to find it was only the howl of the wind. What could have only been minutes that felt like an eternity, two figures seem to materialize from the snow swept distance. Golden eyes pinning on them, his hooves finally still as Bacardi unknowingly held his breath. As they drew nearer, he saw one appeared to be his age, while the other a bold and seasoned stallion. Without a doubt, father and son, with how the younger reflected the older like a pool of water.

As the stallion postures, picking up his speed to approach in a more intimidating way, Bacardi can’t help as he takes a few steps to the side. Though he is not afraid, his ears twist to the side to show his confusion, as he had never seen another act in such a manner unless challenged to a battle. Thankfully, despite his approach, the stallion finally spoke. His accent was nothing like Bacardi had ever heard before. It seemed there would be many first for him today.

“I do not come with ill will.” Bacardi said, straightening his stance so that he faced the winter king squarely. His voice did not tremble, and his lupine colored eyes bold. The young painted stallion wanted to make a good impression, even if maybe his initial reaction hadn’t been so convincing. ”I am Bacardi, son of the Peak. he introduced, giving a small dip of his head respectfully. “I am in search of a place to start my life, to become a stallion, and Tinuvel seemed a close fit to the mountain I have always known. Does your herd, or any herd that you know of, have a place for a subordinate stallion?” Perhaps bold, and a little bit too forward, but Bacardi had never been one to beat around the bush. It would be wasteful of everyone’s time if he did.

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

"...speech"