Those pretty violet eyes soon locked on to him, and for a few moments it seemed as though the older mare's seasoned pools were ripping him apart; studying every aspect of his weathered hide. What must she think of him? Some large beast, wandering alone in the wood? The pretty thing did not seem frightened like so many mares often did at the sight of him, nor did she eye him with any sultry heat; the likes of which he'd only experienced a few times, and none which he'd indulged. Apprehension grasped him as her lilting voice met the air.

The bronze did not miss the sarcasm which tinted her words. He fought a grimace, hoping dearly to whatever Gods might look kindly on him that she was not like the last mare. No; he could not stand another earful of sharp criticism or unwarranted insults. The charger would much rather turn tail and leave the lass here in the forest, let her find her way to the Edge or the Foothill's on her own. Blue eyes could not bear to watch another girl be frightened by him or believe that he was some sort of monster.

"I only mention my title as it was assigned to me, miss. I mean no arrogance by it. I help lead the herd, alongside Kri the Resolute, a good mare." Cream locks shifted as he dropped his skull in his own show of respect, words of neutrality leaving his mouth in explanation. It was not as if he chose the title, after all. It was given to him, and what would anyone do in such a situation but take it? He did not hunger for power like a greedy king; only wished to serve the herd the best he could. He'd pledged himself to the Throat. It's sands were his home, and he would gladly die to keep it safe. There was no shame in the title of Sultan, no matter the jealousy or preconceived notions it might invoke in those who did not know better.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Aitheria. You are in Helovia now. This wood we stand in is the Threshold, the gateway most newcomers pass through. To the Northwest is the World's Edge herd, led by the equine lady Mirage. To the Northeast is the Windtossed Foothill's herd, led by Svetlana the StormChaser, Evers the Able, and Archibald the Dauntless. To the South is my own home, the Dragon's Throat, lead by Kri the Resolute, and myself." After giving the winged lady a brief description of the herds, the golden paused, waiting for her to formulate questions. She'd likely either want to know more of the groups or just be off on her own way. Some found no solace in the company of a herd, and at times Leander understood that well.


[ooc: Yep! They are temporarily blue now - though normally they are gold. ;D]