He is nimble and quick, so very much like his namesake, darting easily amongst the trees and the brush. So much of this land has been explored, but there is always more. There is always something to entertain.
When he grows bored of the trickling streams of lava, of steam and mountains, he moves on to the forest, or the meadow. He longs to explore the other lands in much the same way, but he has yet to devise a clever enough scheme to do so that will not get him caught. So, today, it is the meadow.
Truly, he has found something of interest here every time he has visited. He should be a familiar sight by now, a boy of ruddy roan with the bold white stripe and stockings. He has grown since his first visit, less gangling child and more lithe youngster. His red mane has begun to flop to one side, the strands thick and ticklish against his neck. His tail now reaches his hocks and might now actually serve some purpose in warding against flies come summer.
Not that he is eager for summer. No, winter is his season, ice and snow his element. It floods his veins and gives life, gives him joy just as he can so easily give to others. It should come as no surprise then, that he is attracted to a creature who wears ice upon his skin like armor.
Of course, he is not hard to spot. One would have to be blind to miss him. Even then, it would be hard. His steps practically shake the ground.
Fox has never been a shy colt, and now is no different. A few easy, loping steps carry him across the meadow from the trees, bringing him to the giant’s side.
”You,” he says without preamble, ”are the most impressive horse I have ever seen.” He tilts his head, doing his best to take in the entirety of the massive stallion, amber eyes bright and curious. ”I'm Fox, by the way.”
