The trip continues; south this time, to the Loessian herdland. The idea of being part of Castile’s lands is somewhat strange, as much as the fire-man being part of his had also been unfitting. Then again he might have to say the same thing about the Resort; his being subject to another dragon might just not work. But a herdland, not bothering with politics, well - it wasn’t such a strange thing.

Even though politics could and would still catch up to him wherever he went… in the end, the ice-attuned stallion might find he belongs only there in the ice, as he always had.

And yet here he was, with a new friend he’d made and a young mare he was willing to give the benefit of doubt. The field’s climate was temperate, though it probably didn’t snow much this far south. Wintery drizzles would be all he could get, so he’d have to change the downfall himself every time. Hard work for a winter. Would it be worth it?

A visit then. Putting out feelers.

The ice-scaled male consciously changes his appearance slightly - to what it once was. Thick scales under icy ones are not much of a difference, and the teeth he’s used to never failed him before. His eyes scan the flowers curiously; though the summer temperature is one he can bear, he wonders why the amount of flowers is so large.

A question for Cyprin, then; he calls out, standing at the border.