Don't you dare for get the sun (Any)

[Texas]

and I discovered that my castles stand

upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

For a stallion that once claimed the northern Tudnra as his home, Texas is especially picky about the weather. He sometimes claims that old age has softened him (false) or that he’s sensitive (also false), but the truth is that the weather is simply something to complain about, and he is always searching for something to lament.

“Home gets boring sometimes,” he replies with a shrug of his brown shoulders. Perhaps such a statement is not the best PR for his small kingdom, but there is only so much socializing with the same lot of horses that the bay stallion can tolerate. They’re alright, he supposes, but he is easily distracted, and no place is better for offering novel distractions than the Meadow. “I’m from the Falls,” answers the lanky stallion, no longer finding the phrase strange to say after nearly a decade of calling the place home.

“What about you?” He asks, having noticed her small step toward him and following hesitance. He has no qualms about nearness to mares (and has the eighty children to prove it), but he is not the type of man to force his presence on someone so clearly reluctant. He doesn’t move away though, clearly allowing her to press forward if that’s what she decides to do. She is pretty, he decides, if a bit too young for him. Everyone is too young for him, of course, but he occasionally likes to pretend he has some sort of standards. “I’m Texas, by the way.”

texas