He had only just arrived, less than a full season ago, and maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was for the best that Viđarr knew not of the stallion Cullen, and his reign of terror over the islands. There is a good heart in the chest of the shadow of a man. The defender of the needy, who ran alongside the chooser of the slain. Viđarr would do what he could in moments like this.
From the side of the mare, he diverged just slightly. Viđarr wanted a better vantage point. His longer legs, his faster gait-- he eats the ground beneath his feet. A boy, filled with mischief, and Viđarr knows the type. He was the same as a child, his brothers as well. “Fortis?” The shadow of a stallion calls out, into the darkness. If he was a boy, where would he be hiding? Honey golden eyes scanning under any brush, searching.
Viđarr is no stranger to running from all the good things in their lives… he knows the feeling too well. As he seeks the boy, he won’t let his mind wander though. “You’re not in trouble, raring, but we need you to come out now,” would he come out to a strange voice? Viđarr could hope, ensuring that he stayed by the side of the mare but still spread out enough to search effectively. He’s too aware, in moments like this.
A pale flash caught the corner of his eye, and Viđarr slowed for a moment. Turning to the distraught woman, his words came softly, speaking so only she could hear. “Did you see that?” Was it him? Through the trees he could maybe, just maybe, see something? Was it Fortis?
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Translation--
Raring, term of endearment used for children
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