He's suddenly aware of another presence, and allows his gentle hazel eyes to open after they'd drifted shut as he dozed. The one who has approached him is a large male, bay in colour and with a face devoid of any human details - he wears neither halter nor bridle. But, as Badger's gaze travels up, his blood runs cold as he realises the stallion - or so he assumes - possesses a horn. A dark twist of an actual horn jutting from his forehead, like the unicorns the children would often speak about. Once, for a school fair, they'd strapped a horn to Badger's head and pretended he was a unicorn, but it was just that - a fairytale. If there's no humans here, then who put that horn there? His momentary fear is replaced by curiosity, and he returns his hoof to the ground and his considerable girth shifts from the tree he's leaning against. "Um, excuse me, if you don't mind me asking...who strapped that horn onto you?" He tilts his head, and as he does his eyeline roves to the man's tail - long and leonine, not the gently hanging tresses that the gelding himself possesses.

There's only one explanation for this - he must have dozed off against the tree, and he's dreaming.

But, he reminds himself, if he was dreaming, he would be back in his stable in the warmth with a full belly - not stood in a wet rainy miserable forest. And he can distinctly feel the raindrops on his back, which rules out the dream theory. That means that this creature must actually be real - but how? He looks equine, simply with the addition of a queer tail and a spiral horn, and his voice, when it comes, is exactly like Badger's own, so it isn't like he is a completely difference species with a difference language. Are you lost, asks the other, and the gelding nods his head dejectedly. "Yeah, I think I am. What is this place?" He gestures around with his muzzle, one ear flickering to the side as he picks up the sound of birds that he doesn't recognise, and the chirping of foreign insects. Wherever he's somehow stumbled, it is certainly not home.

Before he can bombard the horned man with questions, another arrives - and, this time, Badger almost collapses in a prone ball of black fluff with the shock. This one has wings, dear God, actual wings, and a curved horn that looks like it could cut through flesh like butter. Suddenly he's re-evaluating the dream theory, because this cannot be real. A muffled squeak escapes him and he reverses with such force he bangs his large backside on a tree, and he stands like that with every muscle tense and quivering slightly. The rain and flies are forgotten as his gaze darts between the two weird weird magical creature things, ears flopped to either side with abject terror. "You'vegotwingswhyhaveyougotwingsohmygodwings," he garbles, so fast his words run together as one. The winged, horned mare then has the audacity to ask about his halter - like wearing one is somehow weirder than having bloody wings, and the gelding fights the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm not tied - it's just a halter. If I was tied, there'd be a rope as well." Somehow his voice has calmed, despite the fact his heart is pounding faster than a galloping thoroughbred.

Wings. Really.

He looks between the two, deciding that, freaks as they are, he'd still better be polite. He doesn't want to give them any excuse to put those horns anywhere near him, because the vet's needles are bad enough and those things look ten times pointier. "I'm Badger, who are you?" He looks between them, gaze lingering on the mare's wings as he shifts away from the tree and tries to hide quite how terrified he actually is.