Suddenly, there was the sound of another, followed by forward movement that came for him. This made Cortes nervous, and there was only one way the young stud handled such a thing. His ears flattened against his skull, and he arched his neck, to show how impressive he was. His entire body screamed, but he was the son of a mighty stud, who, in the world of man, had earned his breeding rights in a brutal act. One which led to the creation of the would-be conqueror Cortés. Or, that’s what he liked to think of himself as; ‘Conquistador Cortés’, it always carried a mighty tune to it, in his mind. But he was no conquistador, and he was not among familiar company.
He strikes a foot outward, in an effort to impress this adversary. Although they were not close enough to hit each other, it still made a statement. His body continued to scream, his muscles ached terribly; which surely had an impact on his posture and gesturing. No doubt Frey would be able to pick up on these small, subtle social cues from the young stallion. But he seemed to give pause at Frey’s words.
Puffed up as he may have been, there was a degree of confusion in his face. He stomps a foot down, seeming to think. “ Big opening.. Is bad? “ he asked, his tune thickly accented and clearly, common was not his first language, but he did seem to at least understand. “ No home. “ he replies, ignoring the painful grip hunger had on his stomach.
“ Where is? “ he asks… While this may have seemed like an unfinished question, it was the best that Cortés could do, considering the language barrier.
2 years old // Stallion // Criollo // 15.2 hands high
Played by Glory