Although young Çevik had seen much in his four years. His life was made up of different parts and pieces. His mother tried to raise him to be good. She had been hopeful he would find another path, one better than his father’s had been. Çevik had no real idea of what it meant to be good but he was pretty sure it meant something like don’t be a total jerk to everyone you meet.
The spotted stallion catches her scent in the air. He lifts his fine head, ears swiveling towards the sound of her calling to him. There is a low rumble in his chest, his neck arching slightly. Despite the mud streaked across his sides and chest, he is handsome enough. The black splotches of his coat in a gathered pattern along his belly, his haunches, leaving most of him white (or brown at this point). Çevik calls back to her gently as he approaches, when close enough he reaches out his muzzle towards her in a friendly gesture.
“Hello,” he says with a sort of stuttered quietness. He tilts his head ever so slightly to look at her, knowing she has been watching him in turn.
Yes, perhaps they are alike. They both carry a heaviness about them. The weight of lifetime lived in such a short expanse. Çevik tries to brush his nose against hers if she will let him. “My name is Çevik and I come from the northern islands. My journey has been long and tiresome and I have come to rest here in the meadows.”
He nods slightly, more to himself than her, and gives a soft smile.