Lost. Or, he had been. The endless white mass of the Frostbreath Steppe was both alluring as it was cunning, little had Descaro known, the further you walked the more disorientating it became. Especially when the way back into the Basin was one simple path which was almost hidden. Luckily, it had been Tallsun and the snows weren't quite so deep and the weather not quite so cold. The sun was kind to him and there was shelter to be found in the dark depths of caves or hollowed shelters, the Corporal had eventually found his way (rather indirectly) back down the mountain and onto the long grasses that skirted past the Foothills. Relieved to finally know where he was, yet still slightly confused about the whole ordeal, he spent sometime lingering near the forest of claiming, regaining the strength he'd lost when up in mountains and short on food. When he found himself fit to please the ladies once again, Descaro made his way back, pulling from memory the correct way to the Basin from the Threshold. With a bit more luck and stubborn will, Descaro found it again with a long sigh of weary joy. Never again would he go 'adventuring' in the cold desert that was the Frostbeath Steppe.

At least, there was no hidden army to report.

The familiar soft thud of his hooves hitting the solid mountain floor was a welcome sound, he followed the path further in as the magnificent curves of the Basin came into view. A sight he'd missed! All the days of patrolling this land, if anyone knew every little nook and cranny of the mountain herds land then it was Descaro. A duty he would have to return to, if they had not replaced him in his unexpected absence, the mahogany boy was quite looking forward to simply 'going out on patrol' again. Work was quick to crack the whip, however, and he wasn't too far in until he found a white outline of a rather huge looking stallion.

Upon closer inspection, Descaro noted the way the red wrapped around him like someone had hacked at him with terrible aim, but in fact it was a marking. The same bloodied look was carried to legs, hair and one shoulder, that had a rather intricate design placed on it. His eyes were almost sickly to look at and last, but not least, was the striking horn atop his head that reminded him of master crafter Crowley, who had two similar. When he spoke it was with one of those voices that you'd want on your side of the battlefield and not against you, not the suave and suggesting curves of Descaro's own seductive tones. The stallion made his mark quite well and got straight to the point of his presence, so the Corporal went to work, slipping into it like something old and familiar. "If we were to give you a home, what would you offer us in return?" He asked, a smile in his voice as he fell to a halt a few strides away from the red splurged stud's rather large figure.

"I'm Descaro, the Corporal here. Who are you?"