He moved through the threshold of this new land in the same rambling, aimless way had crossed every land for years. With no goals to speak of, no needs but physical ones that could be satisfied most anywhere, Mercurio had made himself an expert in not sticking in one place for too long. He wasn’t a loner, not really… He enjoyed the company of other horses quite a bit; the talk, the distraction, the buzz, was something he craved as much as anyone, but after a certain period of time they would start making demands and having expectations… It was a failing in him (though he would say he was being realistic) that at first sign of any emotional depth, and settling of ones roots, he would shy away like a spooked colt. To Mercutio, it was just saving the trouble, the hurt, to pack it in early and leave long before a relationship or situation could turn sour. He believed they all would in the end, and it would inevitably be his fault.

The grullo giant would be the first to call himself a fuck-up. He could easily trace every bad thing that had ever happened to a point where he had caused it whether it was true or not. Of course, nothing bad had happened in years but that was because he never allowed for the possibility of anything truly good. He had it in him to be good; to be happy and content and kind and loyal and useful but he also had the self-awareness of a nebulous black hole. It was even a mark of his potential for selflessness, that he pulled away for the sake of others, because they didn't deserve to be dragged down by him. Public service announcement: it a kid hears they're not worth shit enough times, eventually they'll believe it. Sometimes the'll never learn any better, never try to.

Mercutio's thoughts were a less grim than the reality of his existence (like I said, lack of self-awareness) and he rolled through the cool afternoon under a canopy of changing leaves in search of his next entertainment. To his mind the would was how it was, and there was no sense in getting his nose out of joint because of it. To be entertained for the short term was the best he could hope for and he was content with that. The sun was out, the air was crisp, and he had a new trail to walk down and so he went where his legs led him. There was an easy athleticism to his movements, and his size gave him a certain gravitas. In the shifting sea of leaves all turning to reds and oranges and browns, the deep blueish hue stood out against the landscape. It was a fine place to be...for now anyway.

Oh, and while the king was looking down—

the jester stole his thorny crown

Mercutio