10-01-2017, 07:53 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
This is not the black stallion’s first venture to the Field, but it is still far from familiar. There is a sense of transience here, an appealing impermanence that hints at the everyday novelties that happen on this great empty plain. Ivar arrives in the wide land, dotted here and there with strangers, and wonders how he will leave. Alone or with a companion. Either might be considered a success, he muses, depending entirely on these horses that mull through the belly-deep grass. This time of year, there are plenty of mares with children at their sides, and those he avoids. Too touchy – he has learned – prone to take offense to even accidentally impeding their line of sight with their child. The lone mares he avoids as well (though for an entirely different reason), which leaves him only the stallions of the field to assess. A few he dismisses; he is picking his future kingdom mates, he tells himself; it is alright to be choosy. He’d rather not deal with that appaloosa who is refusing to accept a polite dismissal from an irritated looking mare, and the chatty bay looks like he might wander off a cliff as readily as walk a patrol. There. A tall stallion his own height, more brightly colored than the matte black and white Ivar. He is smiling, but not overly so, and his demeanor is pleasant enough that Ivar sets off toward him with a matching expression. “Hello there,” he says to the stranger, dipping his head in greeting. “I’m Ivar.” |