As a colt, he was always harmless. Innocent, though with a love for running around and always messing up with his too-long legs, and whenever he tumbled, or had bumped into a tree, there would be yet another mark on him that his mother would look at, a face that said ‘I told you so’. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him - but she sure had no use for him either, and it was clear that she found his whole existence a bit annoying, as if it kept her from moving on.
It did, of course. She’d never wanted a child, the point of him existing however is that nobody says no to a magic-wielding god or darkness; one had only the choice of making the experience pleasant or unpleasant (and that he’d been attractive as hell, helped his case). So now she had Cyneric. But they often fought about what he should and shouldn’t do, and this time his running, had made him change form, and she’d just not found him again.
And Cyneric found that running as a wolf pup was something that befitted him way better than as a young horse, he was lower to the ground, and more sturdy that way.
Of course, he was also more fluffy and perhaps endearing, which helped his case right about now.
Having fallen to his hind, tail laying about just behind him, he looked up with wide eyes as another horse drew near, having found him perhaps because of the sounds he’d made. But he’d already forgotten about the rabbit, this mare was so different from his mother, going about him gently, asking if he was lost.
”Home?” he repeated slowly, looking at her with questions written all over his face. Was it far away? How far had he come? Mother might be somewhere in the meadow, or the field, or perhaps she wasn’t looking for him any more, thinking he would fend for himself or come find her when he was done being a pain in her neck.
But the truth was that neither he nor his mother had a definite home, and after a long, long frown of thinking, he shakes his head. ”I’ve no home, so I’m never far away.” He decides.
Still sitting wide-legged on the earth, he wags his tail at the mare. ”Do you have a home?” he asks, and then, blinks his bright blue eyes as he remembers introductions and politeness (not that his mother usually was polite, but he knew it from other horses approaching him or her, sometimes, though the encounters were always short). ”I’m Cyneric. Who are you?”
@[Tyrna] Sorry it took me so long!