[open] who caught and sang the sun in flight

[Herrin]

------H E R R I N in short:-------------------------------------------------- all good things are wild and free The red leaves overhead are a striking contrast to the black branches and white snow that Herrin winds his way through. The buckskin horse looks up at them, well lit by the early morning light. Not even winter can pull the color from the trees of Sylva, and the black-eyed young stallion has always appreciated that aspect of his home. Raised in the no man’s land between the ever-autumn forest and the red hills of Loess, Herrin’s fondness of the place has kept him from ever leaving for long. He’s heading toward a stream, intent on quenching his early morning thirst, but draws up short at the appearance of tracks in the newly fallen snow. It is not often that others find themselves in this part of the woods. Herrin’s woods are far from the trails that connect the Southern realms, and he prefers it that way. The stallion’s dark lips pull back in a catlike snarl of displeasure, but he shifts nothing but those glittering white teeth. He prefers his horsehair coat to that of the cheetah, especially on winter days like these. And perhaps it is simply a wandering elkear, lost on its way to the grasslands. Following the tracks, he finds that they are paralleling his intended route to the water. Had they been looking for a drink as well? The trail leads through thick stands of red sumac, obscuring his line of sight, and he knows better than to go in blind. “Is someone there?” His voice sounds more pleasant than he feels at having his morning routine interrupted, but it has also been some time since he’s seen anyone, and perhaps he’s overdue to find out what has been happening in the world outside his woods.