His endeavors in Ischia and later Nerine had somewhat worn him out; he antics to calm his niece had taken a lot of magic, and for now, Aodhán’s rather stick to his birth shape. He knows of course, that it doesn’t matter as long as he doesn’t shift - but he still likes to think his horse shape is his go-to state.
So it is a white knabstrup hybrid stallion then, with metallic golden spots gleaming in the sunlight, that meanders through the Field. His age is something he can alter, too - heck, if you can be a turtle and a mouse, even a timeless rock, and can combine all those, then it doesn’t matter; but he does stay closest to the age at which he receives his trait, which might make him look like 2, or 3 - his naturally baroque and draft hybrid build, usually kept pesky “alpha” stallions out of his way, as long as he didn’t bother them.
The knabstrup hybrid isn’t paying a lot of attention however; not until the surprisingly strong scent of honey and horse reaches his nostrils, and he looks up. One filly talking to another, but his ears catch something akin to being new, and he studies them a moment longer before he makes his way over. He’s not in a hurry, but if they need a home, no place is better than Ischia after all. ”Good evening, ladies.” he greets them, looking from one to another, his green eyes dancing in the setting sun’s light. ”I couldn’t help but overhear the last part. I’m Aodhán, from Ischia.” he offers as a start - it’s up to them if they want to know more, he figures.
from the ashes a fire shall be woken
@[Persephere]
@[Pollen]