This is not the black stallion’s first venture to the Field, but it is still far from familiar. There is a sense of transience here, an appealing impermanence that hints at the everyday novelties that happen on this great empty plain. Ivar arrives in the wide land, dotted here and there with strangers, and wonders how he will leave.

Alone or with a companion. Either might be considered a success, he muses, depending entirely on these horses that mull through the belly-deep grass.

This time of year, there are plenty of mares with children at their sides, and those he avoids. Too touchy – he has learned – prone to take offense to even accidentally impeding their line of sight with their child. The lone mares he avoids as well (though for an entirely different reason), which leaves him only the stallions of the field to assess.

A few he dismisses; he is picking his future kingdom mates, he tells himself; it is alright to be choosy. He’d rather not deal with that appaloosa who is refusing to accept a polite dismissal from an irritated looking mare, and the chatty bay looks like he might wander off a cliff as readily as walk a patrol.

There. A tall stallion his own height, more brightly colored than the matte black and white Ivar. He is smiling, but not overly so, and his demeanor is pleasant enough that Ivar sets off toward him with a matching expression.

“Hello there,” he says to the stranger, dipping his head in greeting. “I’m Ivar.”



kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis

The grullo stallion returns Ivar’s smile, and the young stallion is glad. Judging by appearances was not always a safe task, but it is necessary one here in the Field, when one dopes what Ivar is here to do. The friendly greeting from the other tobiano is a pleasant one, and Ivar repeats the other horse’s name to himself. Vitalo. He does not mind that the other stallion is giving him the once over – he’d done the same thing while approaching, albeit from a distance. It is only responsible to get to know those near you, after all.

For a moment the other male is quiet, but he breaks the silence with a question, and Ivar looks up curiously.

The scaled horse is nodding before he speaks, a nonverbal conformation that “Yes, I was born here.” He pauses for a moment, and decides that if this stranger is a newcomer to Beqanna, perhaps he’d best clarify. “Well, not here, exactly. But here in Beqanna, yes.” The wind is not with him today, but they are close enough that he can tell that this stranger does not smell of any of the kingdoms (or common lands) of Beqanna. An outsider then; Ivar is immediately curious about what lies beyond the sea.

“You’re new here then,” he surmises aloud, “and perhaps looking for a home?” The words are curious , though Ivar does except that he knows the answer. There are always those who would rather wander though, and Ivar does not blame them. There is much to see here, especially for a stranger to Beqanna.



kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis