The morning had just begun; the pastel colors casting their bright shine across the otherwise inky sky. Dawn was always Bacardi’s favorite part of the day. He stood close to the pond; his golden eyes cast to the horizon to watch as the bright sun rose for another new day. But it did not chase away his worries. Still young, perhaps too young, Bacardi held so many doubts that being a Lead Stallion was for him. He didn’t have even the slightest clue how to greet a stranger, much less act towards another stallion. The image of Bjorn greeting him on the Tinuvel shore with neck arched and body tense was nothing like he had been acting.


Foolish he thought, giving a shake of his head before glancing over to where Soraya was. This place was so pretty, and comfortable even now as Fall was rushing in on them, would she want to go anywhere else? Would she want to go with him? But even if she didn’t, the young stallion did not feel the happiness he had first experienced when claiming this land. It was just too quiet. Too empty.


Turning away from his post, the painted boy climbed down the steep pond embankment and followed the trail he had begun to create that lead to the shoreline. He wasn’t really sure what he was going to do, but the mountains in the distance still called to him. Bacardi blamed it on his roots; of living most his life in the Peak. Taking to the salty water did not need anymore rambling thought, and he swam without anymore reserve.


As Bacardi climbed up onto Tinuvel’s shore, the air was chilly compared to that of Luthien. Fall was creeping in faster here than in the Savannah. But even as he felt a shiver crawl up his spine, the stallion drew in a deep crisp breath and felt invigorated. Home Bacardi thought, though he had never technically lived here. But it wasn’t the first time he had been to the Bay. He recognized it now, seeing the familiar slopes and rocky edges he had raced across with Havelle. Just the thought of the pale mare made his heart thump harder, but he had to push her from his thoughts. Thinking about her being anywhere else but his side caused darkness to creep over him that he wasn’t ready to face.


Instead, Bacardi focused on the scent that hung in the air instead. It seemed a mare had claimed this land as her own. The smell of others was strong too, meaning that this place was filled with life unlike the Savanna. Drawing in another breath, Bacardi finally let out a call, hoping whoever answered wasn’t hostile.

three years. mutt. bay tobiano. fourteen three hands. of the savanna.

"...speech"