Autumn had come, and Autumn was almost gone, yet Bacardi’s daily routine remained the same. The painted stallion did not rush out of the territory to try and spread his genes among the islands, or to woo the mares within his home. He had not done that as a freshly matured stud, and he would not do that now as a seasoned one. What did preoccupy his mind though, was the change of scents on the wind. Zevulun was not on his favorite list, but he was a consistent, never changing force that kept the border with the Prairie safe. Now, as with the other two territories, Bacardi was faced with an unknown. It was enough that he had drawn his family closer to the center of the Forest. To keep all prying eyes from straying across the border. He could not, and would not, take the chance of someone being forced from their home in the Forest.


Not for the first time, Bacardi had thought about going to visit his neighbors. Though the same hesitation that kept him in his own territory, made him wonder why no one had come to him? He knew it couldn’t be reputation that kept them out, since Bacardi had not been the kind to make one for himself. He could only continue to ask himself, but never find the answer to; why?


With a harsh snort, the bay and white flicked his ears back briefly into his thick tangles of mane. His lack of knowledge with the rest of Luthien was a bit irritating, but he could only blame himself for that. Bacardi was sure that he would need to change that soon; perhaps as soon as winter set in for Luthien. Autumn was never a good time to visit any herd, even the peaceful ones.


So, mindful of his home, Bacardi continued to keep guard of his family by following the same path that would make a ragged circle around his herd. A heavy scent laid that would make it clear to keep out to any that came too close.

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

"...speech"