Garmr has never been a difficult stallion to find, but he is a particularly hard one to summon. When the sharp call rings out into the quiet of the Lagoon, the draft stallion is both annoyed by the brazenness of it but also intrigued. Since autumn had come and gone, the stallions had become lazy, so it is by curiosity alone that he goes to see who called for him.


Though his green eyes glitter in the shadows as he trapses none too quietly through the Lagoon, Garmr does not appear excited about this visitor. He makes them wait and arrives on his own time to first lay eyes upon the dunalino before saying anything. If not for the size and stature of the young stallion, Garmr might have mistaken him for a relative, which would have been no favor to the stranger. But there is nothing about the overo that marks him as Tyr’s.


“Such a special occasion.” Garmr stated, but his growl-ish voice is deadpan with clear sarcasm. “to what does the Lagoon owe such a pleasure?” But the hunger in the stranger’s eyes is not missed as the Boss studies his face, and that rush of excitement threatens to warm his veins to chase away that winter chill. But Garmr dares not hope and assumes that this will only make another body to the pile of useless stallions that lived here. Or perhaps a young herd stallion, here to claim something that is not his.