It has been ages since he has been to the field. Well, as awkward as he is, you can just about imagine how, uh, interesting it can be when he traverses this place. The last time he had found a very nice mare who had, amazingly enough though, followed him back to his herd. Or, well, what he calls a herd even if it can’t really pass for one yet. She’s gone now anyway, so what does he really have? Pretty much diddly squat.
In any case, he’s here again, trying to figure out if he actually has a shot with any of these lovely young women roaming the field. In most cases, that would be a resounding no. Unless they’re into rather plain young men who are little rough around the edges. And awkward. Let’s not forget that.
He’s not entirely without good attributes. He has a solid build and a nice shape, even if his coat is a rather drab, dusty black. And the sunlight is his to command. That’s pretty cool. Mostly he just uses it for party tricks, but it seems to entertain well enough (namely, himself. Does that even count?). Whatever it is, it’s there. He has it.
Which is great and all. But when it comes down to it, it’s first impressions that count. And frankly, his suck. But I guess there’s nothing to do but try.
He spots a roan paint mare a little ways off that catches his eye. She’s a cute thing, and let’s be real, he seems to have a thing for roans. So he approaches. His step is a little hesitant, but he hides that behind the bright grin that seems to automatically curve his lips. As he nears, he sends a little tendril of light before him, causing a brilliant sun-yellow lily to bloom a foot or so in front of the mare.
”Flower?” he asks, a note of hopefulness in his voice. He pauses a moment, realizing then that he hadn’t considered this far ahead enough to think of something to say next. ”Uh, I’m Astray.” Clearing his throat, he scrambles for something to add. So he continues, rather lamely I might add, with ”How are you?”
who am i supposed to be
if everything good is taken from me?
astray