12-11-2015, 11:45 AM
Finding a home is one thing. But friends, finding them, that can be much harder. Keeping them, well, Corin hasn't managed to so far. But then, he hasn't managed a lot of anything so far, and he's working hard on changing that. There's only so much time that one can spend alone before madness seems to set in; the stallion can feel the tendrils of insanity pulling at him and he is desperate to stave that off.
Which is why he ends up treading that ancient path towards the meadow, the sun warm on his back, his white and gold legs moving effortlessly forwards. It has been only a few years since he has been here – a mere blink of an eye to some, he knows – but it has changed since his last visit. The trees are taller but otherwise the whole land seems smaller, more compact; horses seem to cling together in groups, not grazing separately, talking in pairs, memories he has from before. He stands for a few moments, deliberating – he isn't the greatest conversationalist, he has not got the way with words that so many others seem to have. No, he has to choose his words slowly, carefully. He doesn't want to approach an established group, so he just watches, wondering if he should turn and leave, when another lone stallion walks into the meadow, stopping a few hundred meters away.
Corin moves quickly, before he can change his mind.
He puts his most contagious smile across his face, and nickers softly to the other stallion. “Hi there,” he says as he comes to a halt, taking in the black stallion, wondering if those eyes are as old as they look. He also, briefly, wonders if that's a rude thing to think. “My name is Corin. It's nice to meet you, who are you?” It's the stilted, innocent dialogue of his youth; in his defence, Corin hasn't had a lot of practice.