Texas has spent time outside the borders of Beqanna, but he has no desire to return there. When he disappears (as he is prone to do every few decades) it is always within the depths of the forests or in the craggy mountains; he does not stray far from his homeland.

And so he knows that there are others out There, living lives far different from those of the horses within Beqanna. Yet as far as they are from here they find their way here, picking their way across barren wastelands or traveling across the sea, sometimes even waking in the Field despite having fallen asleep ten thousand miles away. It’s a strange place, the Field, and the feel of impermanence in the place is almost thick enough to taste.

He doesn’t know what has brought the heavily scarred mare here, but she seems appropriately wary of strangers, which Texas can appreciate. She also doesn’t seem inclined to chatter, which is one of Texas’ favorite traits in those that he spends time with. Perhaps she’d fit in at the Falls. He’s about to ask what she’s doing in the Field, but the sound of hooves makes him turn away. It is much easier to see the golden mare in the darkness than it was to see Zylan; the moonlight is especially bright on her silver mane. She smells of sand and thirst and Texas suddenly wonders if the wounded mare from the Gates had ever made her way to Desert that Yael is clearly from.

Her voice is heavily accented, enough so that he wonders if the Beqanna tongue is not her native one. She is not who he is here for though, he reminds himself, and after offering her a nod he turns back to the other mare who has just been asked a similar question to the one that he’d been prepared to voice. “Same thing I was going to ask,” he says rather than remain strangely mute, and offers a brief smile.

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It’s been a century since Texas was a herd stallion, patrolling the field in search of women to live with him on the Wildflower Plateau. He remembers only one face among the dozens, a sunny chestnut mare whose memory brings up emotions he has closeted far back in his mind. He doesn’t think of her now; he never thinks of her anymore. It’s better that way.

Close enough this time to see, Texas notices the way the mare responds to the approach of another horse – alert and prepared in a way that only those well-practiced in war ever truly are. It’s the way Texas should respond, but he is old and confident enough that his alertness is hard to find. Zylan settles to answer Yael, and Texas flicks his dark ears forward to catch what she says. The hesitation before the explanation is telling in itself, but Texas is not given to prying (a trait rather common on those with their own secrets, it seems) and so he only nods in response; her reasoning makes sense.

Never the most skilled at the complexities of veiled meanings, Texas had taken Zylan’s own question at face value. Yael’s response to the other mare’s question gives him pause though, and he glances for a moment at the golden mare, lost in his own thoughts as she answers. “I’m from the Falls,” he replies, giving the response he’d at first been prepared to give. But since Yael had expanded he supposes that he should too, though his story is far simpler. “I was born here, in Beqanna though. Over those mountains, near the sea actually.” He gestures to the west, where the mountains that shelter the Chamber rise darkly even against the night sky.

“If you’re looking for somewhere to stay, I can offer the Falls.” He adds, responsible now for the direction of the conversation. Yael can offer the Deserts as well, and while some might like the scorching summers and rainy winters, there are many others who do not. “Before I do though – what are you looking for in a home?” He suspects that Zylan would fit well in the kingdom of the dazzling waterfall, but he knows all too well that if she doesn’t like it that she won’t stay long. Best to find out what she is looking for in the beginning.

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