04-09-2017, 08:41 PM
An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend.
He knew at some point, that others would come; drawn either by the spotted mare’s proclamation as he had been or because they happened upon the hills in the course of their own travels. The bay overo stallion doesn’t mind much but he likes the quiet that blankets the hills in the spotted mare’s absence; she is pleasant, quick to smile, and he likes her company but he likes the quiet more, it makes the wildness of the hills seem more present as the hares and other things come creeping out of them, unsure of the horses that claim this land as their own.
(He believes the hares have come tolerate him at least, they hop all around him whenever he grazes and he seems to have been eye-to-eye with a hare on more than one occasion now. What next, a bird hitching a ride on his back? It’s happened before, just not here.)
Spear slakes his thirst in just one of the plethora of springs that ribbon down the hilly landscape, and lifts his head from the crisp water as someone - a stallion, by the smell of him - calls out. “Over here,” he echoes back, as he maneuvers across the face of the hill to the one the stallion inhabits. He admits he is curious but not surprised that someone has come, was that not the point of the spotted mare coming and going so much? “I’m Spear,” he says by way of casual introduction, not taking the bay and green stallion for much of a threat but noticing that something about him seemed a bit… off.
“If you’re looking for Crota, she’s not here at the moment I don’t think.”
He can’t be sure, he doesn’t keep tabs on her but he hasn’t seen her in a few hours and assumes that she has gone off like she always does, to bring more back with her. spear