i'm the king of nothing at all
you're my queen of nothing at all
Darrow has not quite ceased roaming, even now that he has arrived in Beqanna. The wanderlust is in him, pumping through his veins, running rich in his blood and moving his body almost without his being conscious of it. There is no purpose or direction in today's foray, and he had zigged and zagged over the eastern part of the continent all through the long hours of the morning. He hasn't settled on a place, to make a home. He's strafed a few boundaries of course, testing the edges of unknown kingdoms like the pain in the ass bachelor he'd been before making landfall in this place. Never engaging with anyone this time, just taking a look and disappearing again.
In the meadow he pauses to drink his fill from a creek almost choking with the long spring grass that overgrows it's banks. All the while he minds his surroundings, though his body language remains relaxed, unconcerned. Something unusual inches into his periphery. Raising his head, muzzle dripping, Darrow's gaze alights on a little mystery going about the meadow molesting flowers. His ears flick, and he watches for a few moments. Watches the way the blossoms respond to her administrations. Looking away only to trace her path--the boulevard of bursting blooms lying in her wake. It made a rather romantic picture, and his expression tipped into amusement at the thought.
Deciding that he should introduce himself, the sturdy red beast crosses the grassy expanse that separates him from the woman blessing the flowers. Stopping in her path, a great sanguine roadblock, the stallion tilts his head just slightly and says, "Hello flower woman, I've been admiring your work." Very eloquent. What did you say to a strange lady going around turning rosebuds into double blooms? He tucked his head, a gesture acknowledging his failure of an introduction and added. "Darrow."
Darrow
@[Sunday] She loves color so I brought her my red pony.