As the seasons change, and Autumn takes it’s claim over the islands, so too does the reek of mares. Although Garmr knows the pleasures the season gives, having finally partaken in a few now, it did not do anything to brighten his mood. Ears tilted back, though not quite pinned, his green eyes glared into the shadows of his home. There were too many mares here, though at this point, it was mostly his fault. Only a few were not his own. Perhaps it was time to kick a few of them out?


Who was he kidding? He was too greedy for that.


The sound of squelching mud gathers the stallion’s attention away from his own inner turmoil. Glancing over, he sees the pale figure of Thranduil. It’s been a while since he’s seen him, much less spoken to him. He carries the stench of that mare almost stronger than the smell of the Lagoon. Garmr curls his lip in disgust before he settles his face in a less disappointing expression.


“Thranduil…. What a surprise.” He says, though Garmr’s tone shows little enthusiasm. “To what do we all owe the pleasure of such an appearance?” And for him to have pried himself away from his current obsession.