Renvari
The Ridge is so… empty.
Renvari has a hard time staying there with only the ghost of his mother for company. When he leaves, it’s for a change of scenery as well as the hope that he might bring an actual living soul back to his home. The hope part of that is a bit slim, but he doesn’t mind. Perhaps by the time he makes it home, alone or otherwise, he will be more ready to face it.
Summer on the Crossing is drier than summer on Atlantis. Renvari finds his lips chapped when he reaches the shore, and he meanders in no particular hurry to a shallow stream where he bows his head to drink. He spends the next few hours grazing at the edge of the fresh water, content to be a bit lazy. Maybe he’ll even put off his return until tomorrow.
He doesn’t notice right away, but his gaze continues to find the same mare on the other side of the stream, a bay with a blondish mane. He knows the trademark silver hair of Rougaru’s line, and wonders if she’s one of his offspring. Faolain’s feud with the Wolf king had ended before Renvari had been born, so he shares none of the malice that might have once been found between their families. For all he knows, he’s the last one to remember their bad blood at all; the way he understands it, it had been overshadowed entirely by the tension between Rougaru and Solomon. In any case, the reason he keeps looking at her isn’t even due to his curiosity, let alone anything close to animosity; it’s because she’s very pretty, and Renvari is not oblivious to the cooling temperature and brightening edges of the leaves here.
He doesn’t approach her immediately, but lets his gaze find her naturally a few more times while he’s aware of his attraction to her. When he finds that he does not forget her when she isn’t directly in his line of sight, he takes that as sign enough. The painted stallion picks up his feathered hooves and gets a move on.
He splashes across the stream and strides the five or so paces to where the silver bay pretends to graze with an atmosphere of painful boredom. Renvari wonders, briefly, if she is already tired of him before he’s even said anything, but resolves that that is no excuse.
"Hi," he greets, flicking his salt-and-pepper tail over one snowflake-sprinkled flank. "I’ve never seen a person look so bored they might die." It is, perhaps, a bit rude to say right off the bat, but maybe she’ll enjoy being annoyed slightly more than being over everything.
"speech"who dares, wins
stallion | mutt | grullo snowflake sabino | 16.1hh | ridge