Summer was coming to a close. Bacardi didn’t particularly enjoy the hottest part of the year, but here in the shade of the Forest, it was mostly tolerateable. In his musings, he wondered what it would be like to live on Salem. Where it seemed like summer year around, and the heat sunbaked the earth until it was riddled with lines and parched of all water. Little did he know, that his lineage once came from the hot island. The painted stallion would be shocked, among other things, to learn about the blood running in his veins. But it seemed a mystery that even traveling to the mainland couldn’t reveal.


Lifting his head, stems of grass still poking out of his ebony lips, he continued to chew in thought as only the sounds of his home echoed around him. Somewhere off in the trees, his family would be doing the same. Grazing in the shade, trying to avoid the hot sun in the few open meadows that the Forest offered. He wondered if anyone had drifted off to the pond, easing off into its depths to take a nice, cooling swim? It did sound rather appealing, and Bacardi debating doing that exact thing himself. Instead, he lowered his head after shaking away an annoying fly, and continued to graze.


Life, as of right now, had made the painted stallion content.

mutt. bay tobiano. fourteen three hands. of the forest.

"...speech"