And out he came holding his brothers heel; any

[magnus]

Magnus knew what it was like to need a second start in life.

Hell, he had more than his fair share of them across his lifetimes.

He knew what it was like to feel that deep-rooted determination, to feel it in your very soul, to turn your gaze to the horizon and fight with everything within you for what you knew was right. Perhaps he senses that in the colt. Perhaps he feels a sense of kinship in the way that he stands so defiantly, to ready to fight whatever is to come, so ready to prove himself against a world that is so ready to push back.

Perhaps he is simply curious.

Either way, Magnus makes his way toward the other, his gait easy and his expression neutral, gold-flecked eyes warm as he studies the other. When he is several yards away, close enough to be heard but not so close as to crowd the younger stallion, he stops, dipping his head into a greeting. “Hello there,” he says with a tip of his lip, sun-bleached tail flicking at a hide scarred by war many times over.

“My name is Magnus.”

For a moment, he is silent, letting the quiet of the field settle into the space between them—the sounds of others hushed and carried away by the summer breeze. It is a pleasant day, the heat only beginning to creep up, and he doesn’t feel in a rush to be anywhere in particular so he doesn’t attempt to crowd the boy or pepper him with questions. Instead he just tilts his head, watching him quietly before finally opening up the conversation again. “Is there something that you’re looking for in the field today?”

MAGNUS | I don't belong to anyone, but everybody knows my name

@[Jakub]