His arrival into the Throat had been anticlimactic - for everyone else involved but him. Reich had marvelled at the stunning architecture of the bridge he had crossed and at the surrounding azure ocean. He had grinned at the sight of the red walls, the orange dirt and the general "desert-ness" of his new home. Even now, over a week after his arrival he still marvelled and hummed with pleasure at the red rock below him and the cacti that he had taken a particular liking to. The Throat was a pleasant, family oriented kind of place that thrummed with activity - everyone seemed to have a job to do, something most did without complaint, and the sound of general contentment echoed in his ears every morning when he awoke, and each night before he closed his abyssal eyes to sleep. It had begun to niggle and gnaw at him, this purposelessness, and so he had set out this very morning to discover what, exactly, he could do to assist his fellow herd mates.

A few positions he knew: Warriors, Crafters, Spies. Others he had discovered only from observing - there was certainly something to do with healing, and possibly a deity-related position that Reich had instantly shied from. He had never been an overtly devout man, though he was open minded, and often relied on his own strength and smarts to live the life he desired. He had a vast curiosity about the Gods - and also a strict, bone-chilling fear of them. That, perhaps, was a good thing. Musing on this, the handsome bay man wandered toward the large lake that centred the Throat, his muscles rolling fluidly and with distinct ease. At first glance he may have appeared plain amongst the extravagant and beautiful pegasi, but his deep mahogany skin and lack of wings belied his handsome, if rough, exterior. His bones were hewn from the depth of the earth, strong and elegant along the line of his broad, muscular shoulders and knotted back. His hair cascaded in a mess of ebony curls, tangling within the length of lashes that seemed impossibly long for someone so masculine - and his eyes, pools of abyssal silver containing a depth of emotion unfathomable.

Reich paused at the lakes edge, the coins in his hair jingling noticeably in the slight breeze. He considered calling out for Volterra but (and this had been much to his surprise) the man that had collected him from the Threshold was the King. Sultan Reich corrected in his head, glancing about him as if someone had heard his internal words. He returned his gaze to the lake, watching the water lap at his hooves with a distinct pleasure, praying his thoughts remained on the task at hand.