Had his father succeeded in his goal, Kildare might have grown up with an upbringing that reflected more closely with political ties and affiliations. He'd understand a little more what is to owe loyalty to a place rather than a horse. But he had been born in the common lands and his time had been so short in Culloden, that sense of loyalty was never given time to grow. So to Kildare, his loyalty had been to his family. And without them - with no father to steer him, no mother to rein him in, without his imperial grandfather to command him - he is free to do as he pleases.
The freedom he feels burns in his veins. Kildare has grown up always wanting something and never knowing what it was. He only knew that he was unfulfilled, that there was some itch that he needed to scratch.
He's been able to do that in Beqanna. He can wander to his heart's content. Kildare can let the wanderlust completely burn him through and there is no one to tell him the consequences of it. The young stallion has allowed it completely light his blood and he finds the world completely open to him.
The mare positions herself before and Kildare tries to keep tabs on his own emotions. Mary certainly instills boldness in him as she carries it herself. She is confident and brazen, brash in a way that he finds utterly captivating. He's never known a mare to carry herself with such assurance and it intrigues him. She intrigues him.
"No, I have not," he quips back at her. Kildare studies her and tilts his head to the right, his green eyes mischievously flashing for her to tell him more. "Should I?" he dares.
Mary finally moves forward but not before she flicks him with her tail. The boy grins wildly at her, by her audacity. If this is what the women of Loess are like, he thinks, lead the way. "Kildare. And what do they call a goddess like yourself around these parts?"
@[Mary]