Joining a herd;; any

[Phaedrus]

Tundra isn't so bad, just cold. His wings flutter from his sides, and he takes a sidelong glance towards Brynmor. His approach is slow and mythodical. Each step placed as if on purpose, almost calculated. The stallion was enjoying his home, and his life... so far. They would have to wait and see just what would become of him. After all he has patience, and is more then willing to let a few moments slide by while he enjoys the company of other horses. Its the feild, it has a way of entrancing one, making you stay and muse over the idea's that others may be having. Day dreaming about what could possibly be going through the mind of those nervous antics they so often portray.

Maybe its more the setting, the colors, and scents that attract one, maybe the distinct hum of conversation tickles the ears in just a way to make you want to be a part of it, or at the very least hear it. In ny case, the gathering place holds a lure for everyone. Here it is almost as if time stops, as if the quarrels and bickering kingdoms come to a halt, and they all gather and engage in polite conversation with one another.

After his distracted thoughts took their sweet time in collecting back into the back of his mind. He is brought back to the present and what it was that he was here for. He wondered at just how long his spell of silence had lasted. Shifting a hoof, he looks at the grasses where he had left an imprint. Well definately long enough to leave that there. I'm Phaedrus by the way. He blinks looking between the two. His features remain as they are, matter of fact, there seems to be no expression in his monotunous vocals.

Of Golden Plains He tags it on awckwardly, as if he had forgotten to grace them with the knowledge of location. His cobalt tail switchs against the obsidian hide.

Phaedrus

DEATH GIVES US SLEEP, ETERNAL YOUTH, AND IMMORTALITY